


The Hinterland Doctrine: The Smoke-Filled Room

by Halfpromise



Series: The Hinterland Doctrine [2]
Category: Death Note
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 153,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfpromise/pseuds/Halfpromise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 2 of 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Try Working Out Chaotic Things

"He has a sore throat, so no questions today, gentlemen. Play nice."

I don't have a sore throat. That's just Kiyomi's excuse of the day for why I won't answer questions shouted at me by freelancers in the street. She pushes past a few cameras with the fearlessness of a woman who finds strength in being alone in gender among a hoard of elbowing men, and makes up for the discrepancy in height by wearing knife-like heels. We wade through these people daily. Even though bodyguards keep most of them at a distance, there's always the odd one who slips through to flash a camera right in our faces until we get into the car. They press their lenses against the darkened windows, knowing that they'll never get a shot from it, and that is the reality of celebrity and fame. It annoyed me at first, but I've accepted it as you would accept the relatively minor annoyance of a few mosquitos when you've fallen into a zoo enclosure and find yourself surrounded by crocodiles.

"You'll be telling them that I only speak French soon," I say to the window, not expecting a reply. She's far too busy looking for her compact mirror and I've been busy with having an opinion on everything, because apparently Prime Ministers are supposed to have a favourite contestant on TV talent shows. It's very important to have a wide knowledge of the frivolous while remaining solid, level-headed and serious about things that officially matter. Before that, there were weddings, honeymoons and Kiyomi moving into the Kantei. I sold my apartment, and since a lot of my things were unsuitable for who I am now, they had to be put into storage or sold. As it turns out, I made some wise investments and that money will now sit in my private account. I am a strong believer in private accounts. Sharing things complicates life unnecessarily.

"We're late," Kiyomi tells me after a few minutes. She repeats it, leaning towards the driver, who's in a better position to do something about the problem than I am. The car speeds up, she falls back into her seat and huffs out another "we're late," like she's suffering from a punctual form of Tourette's.

"What a tragedy," I sigh. We're driving past Tom Ford's now and I can think of better ways to spend this afternoon. My private account wants me to have a new suit and a couple of shirts. Maybe a tie.

I twist the gold band on my ring finger to cover up the tan line underneath, which acts as a fading memory of summer, my honeymoon, and ruins my hand. Kiyomi doesn't wear her ring often; her excuse being some mangled feminist statement of independence. The real reason is that she feels that it 'clutters' her finger and distracts attention from her engagement ring, which she still loves as some people love their children. Her feminism didn't stop her from taking my name. We're happy in some ways, since she never pesters me for attention and we require nothing from each other apart from what is expected and unspoken. We share a calm house. Disagreements are rare, since any potential argument is either ignored or some speedy truce is made. Ultimately, neither of us can be bothered. We like each other in the way I imagine incestuous twins do. I'm under no illusion that she's in love with me in the way that Misa was - thank God - since she is primarily concerned with herself and her own wellbeing. She probably thinks that she's in love with me as much as she thinks that I'm in love with her, but if I died tomorrow then she would make the very best of the situation and find comfort in the arms of the press. I prefer her like this. She's supportive and appreciative in a distant way, like I'm as much of a prize as her engagement ring.

* * *

It's Prime Minister's Questions time. I'm waiting to be questioned and I'm waiting by the stairs. I like to make an impression and make my entrance when everyone else is seated. Sometimes my party (and, recently, a few unhappy and revolutionary members of the opposition) stand when I come in. Which is nice. There's also some morbid fascination which I find in watching them file into the chamber beforehand. I make myself look occupied with my phone so no one talks to me.

The fairly new addition to the higher ranks of the opposition - some kid - is standing alone by a pillar in the lobby while his fellow MPs walk past him like he's not really there. He talks on his phone with his face pointing downwards towards the ground. He's interesting because he's recently been promoted to Shadow Head of Justice, and I have no idea how or why. He's younger than I was when I was promoted to Transport, so I can only think that they're desperate and that this is their way of undermining my professional accomplishments. What's strange about him, and it's probably the reason why no one in his own party speaks to him, is because he's weird-looking. He's small and has white hair, dark eyes and wears white suits to make himself look even worse. He's from Hokkaido. I wonder if he bleaches his hair that colour or whether he was violently scared on a ghost train once. Holding his stupid, toy-like phone to his ear, he locks eyes with me for longer than is polite. He doesn't nod his head, smile or look away like other people do, he just stares. My lips curve at the sheer nerve of him, and then he does the same thing.

"Why do you look so happy?" a voice says behind me. My lungs empty, but apart from that, I'm amazed by how little I feel. The only change is that the taste of old coins fills my mouth, and I realise that I've bitten the inside of my lip accidentally as the voice continues to speak in my ear. "Oh. You smell blood from the red camp. I know what you're thinking: How dare he stand within these sacred walls. Unusual suiting choice he's made there. He definitely stands out."

It's not that I didn't expect this at some point, but I was waiting for the right moment to do what he's just done to me; creep up from behind and shock him into an emotional malaise so he'd be at a disadvantage. He came back to work a few months ago, I know, but he stayed away from me and I stayed away from him, which was no small effort since his office is now in the Kantei. The moving of his office was an unwise move on my part, but I arranged it in the immediate aftermath of his leaving as some statement to myself that he'd come back, even though I wasn't assured of it at the time. In the end, it served as another reminder that I shouldn't make hasty decisions in life or allow the heart to get the better of the head, because that's when you make mistakes.

I turn to my left and see his amused face barely hold itself together as he reviews the childish man ahead of me. There's a difference between seeing someone from a distance and having them right in front of you. Sometimes, if I happened to be free and by my office window at the same time, I'd see him walk from the car park to the Kantei in the morning, and sometimes I'd watch him leave in the afternoon. Having glass separating us gave a sense of watching something on TV. I haven't really have time for it lately. Once, Kiyomi brought me a coffee while I watched him arrive at the building. She snaked her arms around my waist, sighed when she saw him and the others arrive and said: "Another day."

"You do remember me, don't you?" he asks me.

"Of course I do."

"Good, because that  _would_  be embarrassing."

"You're back."

"Seems that way. I got a note from your secretary saying that my contract was being left open," he tells me, his eyes squinting with suspicion. "Did I misunderstand it?"

"I thought that you might stay in London."

"Did you want me to?"

"No! No, I meant that I didn't know what you were doing. It's good to have you back. At work. I just didn't expect to see you in the House."

"Watari wanted to speak to me about his son's fraud case. I'm so lucky. Look at all the bedtime reading he gave me. I'm like a citizens advice bureau giving out free advice."

He looks bored as he lifts up the two binders full of paper he's holding like I should break down in tears at the sight of them. He might have taken them, but he won't read them. He's done this before. I'm more interested in why it's taken him so long to acknowledge that I'm alive.

"So, when –"

"Fraud isn't my area - you know how I love homicides - but I can tell that he's going to lose just from reading the charge and his statement to the police," he says quickly, interrupting me with his story like we saw each other yesterday and not seven months ago. "I wouldn't have my firm go near it with a ten foot pole, so it'll be fun thinking of an excuse. I was thinking of the trusty: 'I'm a barrister, not a solicitor. Please don't talk to me!' or 'I'd love to help you but my dog ate my registration to practice.' Maybe I could give it to one of my apprentices for experience. What do you think?"

"Right yeah that sounds like a really good idea but when did you get back?"

"A few weeks ago, as you well know."

And he's still a fucking liar. He's been back for well over two months, but I can't let on that I know that. I kept his job open and gave him a new office. I even had a wall knocked through and had it completely redecorated with him in mind so he'd have absolutely nothing to moan about, and not so much as a thank you. Ungrateful bastard.

"I –"

"You practically ran into an elevator to dodge me, and you  _always_  take the stairs," he says, smiling at me as he leans back on the bannister. "It's ok, the embarrassment is all mine. I shouldn't have said those things to you. I was caught up in the moment, and it's your fault because you were really very forgiving and patient and kind to me. The kindest. And you know that I like it when you're horrible to Jeevas. The list goes on. Or maybe I was still drunk, I don't know, but it wasn't fair of me to make you feel uncomfortable anyway. Take it as the ravings of one of your greatest fans from way back. I just wanted to sack all this avoidance. Well, I was quite happy to avoid you, but then I realised that I'm not sixteen and that I work for you, and sometimes we used to have meetings and sometimes it would be about work. Sometimes. And it was for me to try to sort it out, not you. Running memos through Mihael is stupid, especially because he's not talking to me at the moment."

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter. It'll blow over."

"I kept meaning to call by your office," I admit. "I was going to go for the aloof twat approach."

"Well, it is a classic but I'm glad that you didn't. Are you going for the shocked twat approach now instead?"

"I am certainly shocked."

"But not a twat," he says fondly. "Anyway, I'm sorry. I made it very difficult for you and I apologise. I hope that you can forget it and feel that you can talk to me without feeling awkward. I'd hate that. I was worried about it."

"I don't feel awkward and neither should you. There's nothing to worry about."

"Light, you should see your face. How was the wedding? Have you cut your hair?"

"No. Why?"

"You just look different. In a good way, I mean. Not that you ever looked bad. I guess that sometimes you expect people to look exactly the same as when you left them, y'know?"

"Yeah. How did it go with the firm? And... I told you that I was sorry about your father, didn't I?"

"You did. Everything's good, thanks."

"How was the funeral?

"Well, he was buried. It wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs but the pallbearers didn't drop him, so I suppose that it went as well as could be expected." His eyes drop and he points at my hand after seeing the wedding ring on it. "Oh look, you're shackled and everything. Is Kiyomi ok?"

"Fine. You?" I don't know why I'm bothering to ask because, now that the initial shock has worn off, I can see that he looks fucking amazing. How can anyone come back from funerals and litigation looking better than before they left? Maybe he's given up sugar and whiskey for vitamin supplements and gyms? Or maybe I just forgot.

"Great. So, no awkwardness now? Clean slate?"

"I'm glad you're back, L."

"It's good to see you, not just your heels as you run away from me."

"I didn't run."

"Ok, you walked very quickly. I really appreciate that you're being so understanding about my temporary and unusually fragile state back then," he says, looking behind me and smiling at something or other. When he looks back at me, he pats me on the shoulder and starts to walk away. "I'll let you murder the opposition. Do your best."

"Do you want to go for a drink later?" I ask to make him stop.

"Will you put it on your tab?" he laughs, and I laugh to be reminded of what seemed like my catchphrase before I was Prime Minister. Now people put my drinks on their tabs. It's how the world works. "Thanks, but I have something planned. Maybe another time."

"Sure. Call my office," I say. "Actually, there's a thing tomorrow."

"A thing? How exciting."

"Sycophants anonymous social evening. You didn't get the memo? The opposition whip has organised it to encourage 'good feeling between the parties'," I tell him. He looks as cynical as I feel about it.

"Like that's going to happen. I smell a  _massive_  rat, do you?"

"PR should be there."

"Oh. I should be there then."

"If you can make it. He's hired a floating bar boat restaurant, fuck knows. I'm hoping that he tries to put it on his expenses because that'll be another one gone."

"God, he's such a show off," he sighs. "'One of the people', my arse. He's very retro, isn't he? Isn't he the one with the big lapels? It's not a disco is it?"

"Would I be going if it was? It's just an informal thing."

"On a boat."

"On a boat, yeah. It leaves Hinode docks at half eight."

"I'd hate to miss the boat. Great. Informal. So we can bring... what do you call them, civilians?"

"He didn't say that you couldn't. I suppose so, if they have ID," I shrug. My definition of the term is an unstructured suit and no tie if you really want to hammer in the informality.

"Right. Well, I have to go. See you on the rocking boat maybe."

"L?"

"Hmmm?"

"Don't be embarrassed."

"I'm not. It's impossible for me to feel shame."

"Good. Because. You shouldn't."

"Light, I have to tell you something," he says, serious for once. He looks behind himself towards the doors again, and when he turns back to me he looks happy again. It doesn't stop him taking a few steps back as he talks to me though. "But it can wait until tomorrow. You know that they can't start without you, don't you? It must be nearly time now. Good luck, Prime Minister."

* * *

We pull up at the dock. The lights from the cartoonishly futuristic floating glass cage of a boat makes everything look blue in the darkness. My bodyguard hops out while the car is still moving so he can inspect the fraught with danger environment before we get out. Everything runs like clockwork: I step out, my bodyguard tails me, the driver opens the door for Kiyomi and she's waiting for me by the time I walk around the car and reach her. The sky and our way to the pier is scattered with stars and people respectively. It's bitterly cold but I'm wearing the correct clothing for the weather. We decided to ignore the informal dress code and it looks like everyone else did too. There's no weather or occasion I have experienced which necessitates lazy dressing and padded layers for adults. My guard skirts around us like a sheepdog, herding us towards the boat while we ignore him.

Once we get inside, it  _is_  essentially a bar on water and it's already crowded. I'm pounced upon immediately by members of my own party. There are clean circles on the boat as the parties have split themselves into groups. No, this was never going to be a communal thing unless we all get so wasted that we forget who everyone is. I see the leader of the opposition - some perpetually greasy, argumentative and envious idiot called Tsukino. He and his wife bow, Kiyomi and I do the same and the hatred burns a path between us. He's having a difficult time fighting a mutiny in the ranks since his MPs have only just realised how old, boring and useless he is compared to me, which is part of the reason why his whip has organised this farce. Bearing that in mind, I'm not sure why I've been invited, because it only highlights the problem. I've noticed that he's been trying to imitate me during speeches lately, has employed a stylist to dress him like me, his wife looks like she's trying to dress like Kiyomi and now has a similar haircut. What they don't realise is that they can only emulate a winning formula; they cannot better it. Those in opposition must be opposites in every way to distinguish themselves totally. He doesn't seem to understand this, and his policies are non-existent apart from opposing all of mine, so I have nothing to worry about.

Someone has unwisely invited Jeevas, and he's brought Naomi. Who invited Mikami will remain a mystery, but it could have been me. When everyone is here, I will make a point of shaking his hand and that will give them all something to talk about. While I'm the centre of gravity, buffered by my planetary system of MPs, I notice Mihael and his hair, which has been made platinum by the blue lights. He must be the civilian, so I scan the room for L and find him by the bar taking to the Shadow Treasury. L has always been admired by the opposition and I'm fairly sure that they've been trying to buy their way into making him defect, something which their Head of PR kiboshed so I didn't have to. I must make him feel secure and valued as a member of my staff, so I break away from my little group of thugs to do just that. My bodyguard follows me as I enter the no man's land of a bar area, and lurks at a discreet distance. The Shadow Treasury notices my approach, makes his excuses to L and fucks off with his cosmopolitan.

"Nice suit," I say to L's back, and I'm horrified when he turns around. "Is that a red tie?"

"It's a present from someone who didn't know that this colour is banned," he explains, rolling his eyes at me. Or with me, I'm not sure. "I didn't want to upset them."

"Oh, yeah, your birthday! I'm sorry I didn't get you a present but I didn't know exactly where to send it."

"Why should you buy me a present? But yes, it was my birthday and I am another year closer to death. Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"Not much. I have lived through some of your birthdays, and each of them were memorable in their own way," I tell him, and then frown when I realise that it's not an open bar and the waiter doesn't seem to recognise me. L pours some radioactive green liquid with a sugar cube lurking in the bottom of a martini glass down his throat and coughs once.

"But this birthday was extra memorable," he struggles through a splutter, since his voice has been eroded by whatever he's drinking. I smile into my vodka as we walk towards a quiet open window so that the sound of the water partially drowns out the noise of a boatful of people talking at the same time. I'm amazed by how pleasant we're being. I want to thank him for setting such a tone of friendliness because, if left to me, I would have milked this for all it was worth and driven him absolutely insane. Because no one takes the reins and leaves me; I leave them, and that has been a thorn in my side for seven months. He's the most infuriating bastard I've ever met, and I lot of times when I had him in my office or in my bed or who gives a shit where, I'd think about killing him. Now I'm half-stupified just because we're talking. I hope that I'm well-lit. The Tokyo skyline at night has always flattered me with a soft glow.

"And why was that?" I ask.

"B came to town like the Santa of Halloween. Do you remember that I told you about B?"

"You've been gone for months, L, not decades. He's your friend who thinks that I'm a psychopath, isn't he?"

"He's reassessed you since then."

"Great. What's the diagnosis now?"

"You'll be pleased to know that now you're a narcissist and a psychopath - the favourite mental cocktail of serial killers the world over - but he's not sure which subtype you are."

"I'm a subtype too? Well, that's nice. Let me get you a proper drink."

"I've got one, thanks."

"That hardly counts as a drink. It's green."

"It really is. I feel the burn, so it must be doing me good."

"Or it's bleaching out your digestive system and slowly rotting through like a high strength acid. So, what else did B say about me?" I say while both of us lean on the window frame like pensive poets watching the skyscrapers drift slowly by.

"You don't want to know," he laughs.

"I do."

"I better get this right then. He said that you've created a grandiose persona and alternative reality to cover your weakness and shame, which you suppress or project onto others instead. This would all be regular madhouse, but you're overly sensitive too, just to make it worse, so you can't accept the concept of failure and insult. You want everyone around you to admire you and see how omnipotent you are, and you feel that you're entitled to it. You're arrogant, possessive, envious; you're a unique and special snowflake and other people exist only as an extension of yourself. Basically, you think you're fucking fantastic, and so did I. But, silly me, I also pointed out that you're not fucking fantastic in many, many ways, both supporting and annihilating you, and you couldn't reconcile your feelings for me. You saw me as a threat to your balance of mind. It's very common for politicians, apparently, because what is the government but a collective and internalised narcissism factory? I suppose that it is like a ready-made cult for you. Anyway, that's what he thinks," he finishes with a dismissive snort. I can't speak. I can't even feel anything. From the corner of my eye I see him look at me, but he's just in the periphery. Mostly all I can see are the flashes of light rolling in the water. "Are you ok?" he asks after a while.

"Do you believe that?"

"No! It's just B, and he's got issues they haven't got names for yet. When we were seventeen, he told me that I was a sadistic nymphomaniac with insomnia, unresolved parental anger and a lack of empathy, and he was surprised that I hadn't killed anyone. On balance, I think I'm marginally more messed up than you are. At least you're empathetic, eh? Think of that."

"How can you say that you're worse than me? His description of you just sounds like a typical human being. You let him say that about me?"

"I couldn't stop him, he was on the phone. A few years ago he reassessed me and, in addition to my seventeen-year-old self's psychosis, now I'm an egomaniac who's fixated on my own morality and justice, or lack thereof, and I only take cases on for money or because I find them interesting. The last part's true and I don't see any problem with it. I have an unconscious desire for death too. That's the latest. He's working on that one. But I don't think he likes the sound of you, no."

"I don't like him either and you can tell him that. Tell him that my diagnosis of him is that he's a dickhead and that he needs to stop evaluating people based on your shit conversations. None of it's true."

"Of course it isn't. He's never even met you. You know, if he saw you, I guarantee that his diagnosis would change immediately. He'd be after you like... I don't want to think about it, it's a horrible thought. But I didn't take any notice of him and you shouldn't either. I'm sorry I told you; I just thought that you'd find it funny. Listen, I'd leave, but the boat's moving and I think I'd drown because you know that I can't swim," he says sadly, like he's considering doing it or would do it if I asked him to.

"No, don't drown. It is funny. Just don't talk to him about me again."

"I can't promise that. He's my confidant. My rock of ages."

"There was me thinking that I was. I am fucking fantastic after all."

"And fantastic at fucking. When you were there anyway. See, it's not so bad. Every cloud."

"What do you mean, when I'm 'there'? Surely by definition it means that I would have to be 'there', wherever 'there' is. Where's 'there'?"

"'There' is awkward territory again and we're leaving that behind us now. You mean too much to me to risk that."

"You confuse me," I tell him quietly and I'm surprised by how heartfelt I sound. I try to read him through his eyes, but there's nothing to see.

"Don't look so sad," he says. "It's a mutual confusion society. I'm sorry."

"It's ok, I'm used to it. I just wish... Oh! Didn't you want to talk to me about something?"

"Did I?"

"You said yesterday that you had something to tell me."

"Ahh. Yes, I did. A few things, actually. Like, why is Mikami here?"

"Someone must have invited him." I have no idea.

"Someone."

"Does it matter?"

"We can discuss that behind closed doors. Sadly, there are few doors on this boat to close."

"It is sad. I'm sure that we can find some though."

"A baby's changing room, maybe?"

"Yeah."

He returns my smile. In the world, we're the only two people who know why we're smiling, and I've never had that before. When I smiled, no one knew why but me. I was getting used to idea of forgetting and obliterating what's past so it never happened at all, it was fine. But now I won't lose it, I could have everything. It's just one mistake in my life; just one small rock I tripped over which changed nothing but me. The road is still the same. I want to take him back to my apartment like I used to, but someone else is living there now, in our rooms. I want the love and the sorrow even if I'm broken by it.

This is all very nice until he looks like he's just asked me to set fire to myself.

"Sorry," he says. "This shit ain't easy, is it? All that's past should stay there."

"L, could we go back to that day? There's something I want to do that I wasn't able to do then."

"Which day?"

"The last time I saw you."

"Yesterday?" he laughs, knowing exactly which day I mean. "You always were a charming bastard, Prime Minister. We can't go back."

"We don't have to. You never left."

For a minute there he knew that I was right, but he turns his face away from me suddenly to look back at the water, destroying the moment like it was a piece of paper he's just ripped up.

"Do you hear that?" he asks.

"Hear what?"

"I thought I heard something out there."

"I don't hear anything apart from waves and these fuckwits. What did you think you heard?"

"It must be just me who can hear it then."

"I can't really call you a doctor right now. Can you hang on until we dock before you crack up?"

"B thinks that it's –"

"I've had enough of him. I don't care what B thinks. What do  _you_  think it is?" I really have had it up to my neck with B. B can piss off.

"That this reminds of when I was a kid. Trapped in a place with people I hate, surrounded by water."

"Thanks."

"I didn't mean you. My parents used to take us to this place in the middle of nowhere by the sea and it was fantastic. I mean that sarcastically, by the way. My parents hated each other and I hated my brothers, so it was a great idea for us to go on family holidays. What could be better than to lock ourselves in a tiny, over-priced, rented house for weeks with nothing to do but make each other's lives a misery? We went every year until I was fourteen. I read a story while I was there about a city that was flooded. I mean, completely submerged by the sea."

"What, Atlantis? Did you find Atlantis? I'll be disappointed with anything else."

"Ha! No, not Atlantis, but something like it. I knew that it wasn't true but... The story is that you can see the spires of the churches in the sea and hear the bells under the water during storms, all those lies made up by nutters. I spent nearly every day sitting on the cliff, reading and listening for bells in the rain because I didn't want to go back. And I made myself believe that I heard them. I wanted it to be true, and I've heard them ever since. Only sometimes, like now. It's why I don't like open water or the rain much; it reminds me of it, and I keep hearing these imaginary fucking bells," he sighs, closing his eyes as he palms his forehead. "God, I wonder where Stephen is. Introduce me to Kiyomi again."

I wasn't expecting that. He zones in on Kiyomi like a target missile, leaving me wondering  _who_  Stephen is. I don't want L to speak to Kiyomi or to anyone but me right now, because even when he makes no sense it's still preferable to what everyone else says. This chat with Kiyomi is unlikely to end well. She isn't too impressed with him, particularly since she received his RSVP back for the wedding invitation she sent against my advice. His reply was, 'Fuck no.' I follow him to Kiyomi and arrive just in time to hear him break up her conversation with my Head of Defence. She looks like she's made of steel and her back visibly stiffens when she sees him. Her lipstick is almost black and cruel in this light as she looks at me for reassurance or to explain why I'm allowing L to stand anywhere near her.

"Hi," he says.

"Hello," she replies.

"Kiyomi, due to my hereditary rudeness, I think that we got off on the wrong foot last time we met, and for that, I'm sorry. I'd like us to start again if you can forgive me. Your ring is really very expensive looking. It screams Cartier. When I saw it I thought Cartier. Cartier, in the flesh."

Since she's not as idiotic as other people, she's cautious at first. After a pause, she realises that it might a genuine apology, or at least she'll accept it as one, and she smiles, taking his hand and his penitence.

"There's nothing to forgive. It's a shame that you couldn't make the wedding. It was so bad. Did Light tell you? The civil one was ok but the traditional one was almost funny."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'm doubly sorry to have missed it now."

"You were in London, weren't you? Come and sit with us. I want to hear all about it," she says, covering her eyes when a blast of cold air hits our faces as someone tries to close one of the windows. She's already walking away and expecting us to join her.

"Just do what she says. It's easier," I advise him. "Jeevas is here. Feel free to maul him because I'm not allowed to."

"Why?"

"He's ill and I'm told that it's in bad taste for me to be anything but nice to him now."

Yes, poor Jeevas has been diagnosed with a sadly incurable disease. Diseases, actually. Individually, they might be treatable, but as a conglomeration of attack they've fucked him to the point that sometimes he can't stand properly with or without heavy medication. He doesn't mind since he's having the time of his life, but what he's suffering from is also ravaging and he now has a greenish tinge to his skin. Before that happened he simply lost weight and ran around showing off his new and slightly impressive cheekbones, but thankfully he just looks ill now with no benefits. He can't work anymore (not that he ever did), but for Naomi's sake I've put him back on salary for as long as I can. I also personally contribute to his medical bills, and that's the only thing that stops him from running around with wild and fantastic stories so he can pay for them himself. I'll also have that philanthropic act leaked to the press at a convenient time. He has his morphine and he doesn't care how he gets it or who pays for it as long as he has it. Now that seeing L again has gone as well as I could have hoped without him jumping me, I'll set him on Jeevas if necessary. I like to meet with Jeevas often to see how he declines as his disease progresses. It is very sad.

I walk with L to a cornered off part of the ship which is full of tables, and people around us stare at me, which I'm used to now. I'm used to being stared at, but at least now it's for who I am more than for what I look like. It's a bit of both, probably, because it's so important to be charismatic and attractive in politics, and it's served me very well so far. When we get to the table we're thrown headlong into the middle of Jeevas, who's talking bollocks.

"I went astral and –"

"Oh, I love that club," Kiyomi interrupts as she sits down, exchanging an air kiss on the cheek with Naomi.

"Fucking amazing club," Mikami agrees. It makes Jeevas snap.

"It's not a club! I  _projected_. Astrally. In an out-of-body way. Rose above and saw myself in the car. The shit I've seen, man. The elves were pristine."

"It's called being intoxicated, Matt," Naomi tells him, smiling at me at me as I sit down. Everyone smiles at me apart from Jeevas, who just looks at me coldly and throws sushi into his mouth.

"Where's your guitar, Jeevas? Let's belt out a chorus of 'Helter Skelter' and drop some acid," I say. "Then if we've got time we can kill some hairdressers and talk about how God is an alien lizard."

And then the expected delicate waterfall of women's laughter comes. It pleases me that Naomi can laugh so easily when I'm jabbing needles into her husband. Of course, Kiyomi is obligated to laugh on command.

"You're killing me," Jeevas mumbles through his food when he can't ignore me any longer. It's quite ironic really, because something else is slowly killing him as he speaks. All he can do now is pump himself full of drugs and wait for death. "We've ordered already. Sorry, PM. I'm gutted."

"I didn't expect you to wait. For you, having a brain is surplus to requirements," I reply as I flap open the wine menu for effect. L silently draws a chair up between myself and Mikami, but his presence has been noted.

"Oh, and Lawliet! Haven't see you for a while. I thought that you were dead," Jeevas coughs. I can almost hear his heart and lungs clicking like his bones.

"Sorry to disappoint you," L says. He looks like he's in some kind of religious contemplation. An enthusiastic waiter appears and he wants our order and he wants it now. He'll endeavour to impress us with his machine-like efficiency and speed. L orders another bottle of wine for the table and I have what I usually have when I see it on the menu. No need to stray when you find what's right for you, and it's hard for even the worst chef to balls up raw fish. If I'm sick after sashimi, they will pay. I hope it's sustainably sourced fish because that's a very important government drive at the moment.

"Do they do any salads without any shit on it?" Kiyomi whispers to Naomi, handing her the menu. Naomi must point out which salad has no shit on it and Kiyomi orders that and something non-starchy. This is all part of her new detox regime which is mostly made up of cabbages and green tea from what I can tell.

"How did everything go, Lawliet?" Mikami asks. "Did I hear right that your father died? Does that mean that you own the law firm now?"

"It went fine. Yes, he did die. And yes, I own it now. There was an exciting court case planned but my brother wisely decided to drop it in the end. I hate it when people do that. I wasn't even allowed my moment in court and a lap of victory.

"But you're still working here?" he perseveres. 'Here' means the government, but to anyone outside of the government, 'here' sounds likes it could mean the boat, the whole of Tokyo, the whole of Japan or the whole fucking planet. Even though Mikami hasn't been 'here' for some time now, he hasn't adjusted to life outside and considers the House his true home even though he's still an exile at present.

"Our esteemed and bountiful Prime Minister has granted me an office in the Kantei, no less."

Jeevas' lips purse up like a shrivelling oyster under hot lights. "That's because you were always his favourite. Can't beat a bit of cronyism in the ranks, eh, Lawliet?"

"I feel special. I admit."

"It's actually because PR is integral to a stable government," I chip in. "I think we've learned our lesson about cronyism from The Lady's tenure. I'm trying not to be insulted that you think I'd be so corrupt, Jeevas, but let me tell you, it's quite difficult."

"Yes," L nods slowly. "There you are, and from the horse's mouth. I'm not special, I'm just integral to a stable government."

Mikami can't seem to get his head around L's time management skills.

"But how do you run the firm and work here exactly? They're two full-time jobs, aren't they?"

I study L's face and feel my own tense with a worry I had last considered just after he left - that if he won the firm, he'd try to get out of his governmental obligations by finding some small escape hatch in his contract. He'd find one even if there wasn't one to be found. He'd get the dictionary out, start reinterpreting the terms and convince the judge that the dictionary was incorrect. The thought of him doing this seemed so likely to me at the time that I moved him into check by having my office reissue him with his contract and informing him that he was expected to return as soon as possible. I decided not to include a note telling him that if he didn't, then I would sue him for everything he had and shoot him in the fucking face, which I thought was quite restrained.

"The partners who didn't attempt to steal my inheritance from me are running the day-to-day business and I get a round-up of daily events. We also have meetings on Saturdays. We had one this morning, as it happens. It was thrilling," he answers, looking particularly irritated by Mikami and his question.

"Is the round-up of daily events like a newsletter? Naomi gets one of those with little bouncing rabbits on the header, don't you, love?" Jeevas mutters, inspecting his mummified nails. L glares at him but it has little to no effect.

"Or they call if there's anything urgent," he says, turning to glare at Mikami instead. "It doesn't affect my work in PR."

"Didn't want to suggest that it would," Mikami laughs with difficulty. "Just sounds like a lot of work."

"I manage."

An awkward silence follows during which Jeevas consistently grins while he chews on his food. Since L is obviously feeling violent and annoyed now, he goes straight for the jugular.

"You look sincerely unwell, Jeevas."

"Why, thank you, Lawliet. It's very kind of you to let me know that."

"I hope it's serious."

"Boys, please," Kiyomi says, like she's the mother of all of us. Yet more food arrives to fill the table and I sneak a 'take me' smile at L, who doesn't see it. He's being told by the waiter that they're not supposed to serve alcohol in this area without it being accompanied by a meal. L launches into an aggressive defence about how he's already eaten elsewhere and that this waiter and the company he represents are encouraging obesity, type two diabetes, high cholesterol and blocked arteries, making them responsible for that burden on the health service. The waiter apologises and gives him his wine free of charge, probably because I'm here and he doesn't want to upset me so much that I'll raise taxes. Jeevas pops a pill in between pushing mouthfuls of food into the hole in his face, and everyone pretends that he's not, even though he makes a big deal of rattling the tablets in the bottle.

"It's not  _pissing_  fair that some people think that they can live by different rules," he says, scowling at L and his free wine. "You have to order food with your wine. That's how it is."

"Last time I checked, we weren't living in a communist country. We are not equal. You can abide by the rules, but I choose not to because I'm superior to you in every sense."

Oh my good God.

"By the way, Lawliet-san," Kiyomi says, disrupting the massacre again, "thank you for the wedding gift. We loved it, didn't we, Light?"

I didn't know that he'd sent us anything apart from wishes for apocalyptic weather. After seeing the five identical juicers which Kiyomi had lined up in the kitchen, I lost interest in the presents.

"You sent us a gift? What was it?" I ask him.

"I can't remember now," L answers cheerfully. Kiyomi looks confused by my interest, instead of my usual and expected yes or no when I don't know what she's talking about. L and I both look to her for an answer, since she brought it up, and her face is broken by a guilty grimace.

"I don't remember either, I'm sorry. But it was very nice and we loved it."

"You're welcome. I'm glad that it was so memorable," L laughs. I think he takes my sigh to mean that I don't like his sarcasm with Kiyomi. It's not that at all and I couldn't care less really, I just wonder what the present was. It was probably a juicer. "Belated congratulations," he adds.

"Thank you," Kiyomi's chopsticks make a gentle piano-like sound as she places them on her plate. "So, how was London?"

"Everyone has a beard now, even the women, especially in Shoreditch. They all wear tweed too, which Light warned me about but I didn't -"

"Not too happy, Yagami? You look sour," Jeevas interrupts. "Can't have that. Happiness isn't on the agenda for this parliamentary term."

Shut up shut up shut up and let L speak, you walking corpse. His sushi drops out of his chopsticks and he curses their combined stupidity instead of himself.

And I take Mikami's steak knife and throw it at Jeevas' forehead. It slides right into his skull like it was going through nothing at all. I have very good aim, which doesn't surprise me. He sinks down slowly under the table as a tiny trickle of blood runs in a line down the side of his nose. His eyes roll back a little, his mouth falls open and everyone carries on eating. They haven't noticed. Then I realise that it didn't happen. I let my lips stretch into a crescent of good humour and expose all my incisors to him instead.

"I'd like to see this as a very optimistic time, both for me and my wife, but also for the nation," I say. "I hope you're around to see it."

"Light," Kiyomi whispers.

"I'm in offline mode."

"Yes, but Naomi."

"Oh, yes. Sorry."

"Light, we've been friends for a long time," Naomi reminds me, "so could you just try to be nice to my husband for one hour, please?"

"I would be nice to your husband, but you married Jeevas, and he's smirking at me."

"I'm not smirking," he smirks.

"Is that a smirk? I think that's a smirk."

"It's a smirk," L concludes.

"Stop it, Matt," she tells him. "We all know that you're not well but that doesn't mean that you can be rude. Stop being smug and stop smirking at Light."

She's slowly becoming used to the continued battering of her sensitive nature. She's the sort of person who should live in a hut on a hill with some small dogs and see no one, speak to no one, never watch the news or read the papers or do anything which has the potential to upset her. She could cope when Penber was around as he balanced out the bad and good for her. Jeevas is just bad, and now he waves his hand up and down limply at the table.

"Don't worry, she was like this when Mihael and I had a farting competition the other night. These fuckawful steroids give me wind, man. Serious wind. Blew him out of the building, didn't I, love? Mustard gassed the fucker. It was like the Battle of the Somme."

"I don't want to be reminded of it, thank you. And stop swearing."

More food arrives, by which time Naomi, Mikami and Jeevas have finished their mains and get their desserts, so there is peace for a blissful time. Everyone chews while L keeps looking towards the exit on a regular basis.

"Oh, are you looking for Mihael? I saw him around somewhere. Go and find him if you want," I say to him. He obviously doesn't want to be here at all, and I'm here, so I don't understand that at all. None of us want to be here, but he could at least try to look engaged.

"He's here?" Jeevas gasps, immediately looking around the boat as far as he can see for his one true idiot in arms. L coughs into his hand before he speaks.

"Mihael and I aren't speaking at the moment apart from to tell each other to go away in several different languages. I'd rather no one brought him over because I've exhausted my vocabulary."

"What's he done?" I ask. "It's not about Halle is it? That's old news."

"It's not about Halle, but I'm sorry that you felt that you had to fire her."

"We disagreed."

"The way I heard it, you bullied her until she left."

"No nothing like that. Of course she'd say that to you. She was dismissed, which was handled in accordance to her very temporary contract, but it makes me the devil incarnate anyway. Truth is, she had certain weaknesses which made her unsuitable."

Jeevas guffaws like a five-year old. "I like women with weaknesses."

"Would one of those weaknesses include Mihael?" L asks me, ignoring Jeevas with the expertise I thought that only I was capable of. "I heard. It's the leather."

"I found her unprofessional in a lot of ways."

"As opposed to me, since I'm the paragon of professionalism."

"She tried her best, I suppose. Her best just wasn't very good."

"Or, to be specific, she tried her best with Mihael. Perhaps she was too busy chasing him and that's where it all went wrong? I had to give him a very stern telling off. My poor golden boy is traumatised."

"Is he?"

"No, he isn't, but she probably is, the stupid woman. Mihael... no. Just look at the way he dresses himself. You don't touch him because he'll tear you to pieces and everyone knows that."

"I didn't touch him," I say, forgetting for a second that other people are here.

"I'm glad to hear that but I was speaking generally," he replies. "I'm sorry that it had a detrimental effect on their work. It certainly was a team effort by all accounts."

"I wish I'd known."

"I wouldn't have suggested her if I'd known. You should have seen what she did to his back. Don't worry, we have all suffered. I'm sorry that my staff have libidos but it's not my fault. I can't be held accountable for who's going to start knobbing who."

"I didn't mean that it was your fault, I just won't stand for sexual harassment in the workplace," I say robotically, surprised by his defensiveness. "Any kind of harassment is completely against my ethics. There's a list of work standards and practices included in their contracts. Does anyone actually read their contract?"

"No, such is the curse of small print, but it wasn't harassment since her attention wasn't exactly unwanted," he explains, cracking a tiny, forced smile.

"Hey, Lawliet! Now that you're back, you and Yagami can take up your tennis again. Bit of fencing, y'know what I mean? Bit of how's your father," Jeevas says, furious not be the centre of every conversation. He leans towards us on his bony elbows. L mirrors the pose and everything about him is beautiful with hatred. To stop myself from making an embarrassing noise which would probably make me sound like a chicken running into a wall and climaxing, I drink my wine and think about dynamic stochastic general equilibrium.

"What are you talking about, you insane little man?" L asks.

"I just remember how you loved your tennis."

"Would you like a game of tennis, Jeevas? Don't tell me that all you've ever wanted was to have a rally with me and that's the only reason you've always been such a dick. I'm not sure if it's legal to do that in your state of health, I'd have to check. I'm afraid that I might kill you."

"Naomi, please exert some control over your husband?" Kiyomi pleads. That a woman is sticking her nose in and sticking up for me and a relative stranger makes Jeevas explode with fury.

"Kiyomi, this is nothing to do with you! We do this banter all the time. Me and Yagami, and Lawliet too when he's actually in the country. It keeps us alive."

"We must stop then," I say. "I'd hate to think that you're hanging around just for our sake. Don't you have a hospital to book into? I'll write a cheque."

"Yes, it must stop, Matt," Kiyomi agrees. "If you say anything else to provoke anyone at this table, I will stick my heel in your groin to save them putting a catheter in there."

"Hahahhahaaa!"

"You think that I'm joking?"

"Calm down, love. Jesus. Is the PMS getting you down?"

"Don't be so patronising."

"Yeah, Matt. Please stop talking. Eat your mango and morphine before it gets cold," Naomi begs, very upset now that Kiyomi's involved.

"It was served cold; it's a sorbet, woman. Maybe Yagami should put his dog on a leash?" he says snidely. I very nearly choke on my tuna but swallow just in time. I'm just about to slap Jeevas the fuck down because I think bets are off now, but Kiyomi puts her hand on my arm.

"Don't worry, Light. I can handle this. Matt. This is because I wouldn't have sex with you, isn't it?"

"What?" Naomi shrieks, and I put my chopsticks down with a clatter on the plate as I laugh.

"Shit, Kiyomi, that was years ago," Jeevas chucks back. "And I was drunk. I must have been."

"It was a year ago, actually."

"Oh my God! My best friend, Matt. My best friend?" Naomi shrieks again. Their marriage is turning out to be a dream made of cyanide. I pick up my chopsticks again, having recovered from my brief fit of amusement.

"This is a bad habit of yours, Jeevas. You seem to appreciate my taste, which I suppose is flattering somehow. I'm not angry, I just find it funny and brave of you in a suicidal kind of way. What happened exactly, Kiyomi?" I ask.

"It's not worth talking about. It'll ruin my salmon."

"Fuck the salmon! I want a re-enactment and please do expressions."

"Maybe later," she waves me off. She's noticed that Naomi is drinking her wine like she's been in the Sahara for a month. "Sorry, Naomi."

"It's ok. I'm the one who's sorry," she replies, pouring herself another glass. Mikami wisely takes the wine bottle away from her because she doesn't handle her drink very well. Jeevas shifts in his chair so he's as far from Naomi as he can manage without leaving the room.

"Nah, it never happened,"

"That's the funniest thing I've ever heard, Matt," Kiyomi says, completely dull in tone.

"No, you're forgetting about when he said that he'd love, honour and obey," I remind her. Her teeth look almost pastel blue in their whiteness against her dark red lipstick. We're like two despots in an alliance and it's such a comfortable situation. Perfect, actually.

"I wish that I'd been there. What you need is a good lawyer, Naomi," she smiles, inclining her head pointedly towards L. Naomi's eyes become immediately liquid at the idea.

"Oh, stop it, please!"

"People tend to enter into marriage without thinking about it," L comments calmly, drifting into some dreamtime for lawyers. "They're all so full of stupid romantic notions that they forget that it is a legal and binding contract, and long may it continue. What I like is how dirty divorce cases can be. I almost specialised in it, actually, but then mediation and mutual agreements became vogue and ruined it for me. Perjury is hardly ever prosecuted here, so I used to hear the most brilliantly overwrought stories of abuse and misconduct. Obviously I urge my clients to do this because I love a bitter divorce. I'm a bit busy at the moment, but I'd be happy to advise, Naomi, and I have an excellent divorce lawyer who can represent you. I'll add my fees onto Jeevas' expenses if you decide to do the right thing."

"Oi! Shut up, you!" Jeevas stands, probably thinking that L should be intimidated by a skeleton in a science lab. My eyes flicker back longingly towards Mikami's steak knife until Naomi, at a loss without her bottle of wine, leaves the table suddenly like a fleeing princess. It's so like her that I almost groan from the predictability. God knows where she thinks she's going unless she's going to find a lifejacket and swim to shore. Disturbingly, Jeevas must think the same thing. I must be tired.

"Naomi, where are you going? We're on a fucking boat!" he calls out after her, stopping when people on neighbouring tables start pretending that they're not looking at him. After flinging himself back onto his chair again, he takes the wine bottle from Mikami. "Fuck you very much, Kiyomi."

"What did you say?"

"I said: 'Thank you very much, Kiyomi.'"

"I'll go after her," Mikami mutters. I thought that he'd find this funny too. I'm disappointed. Jeevas smacks his back as he leaves.

"Cheers, Miki. Smooth it over for me, yeah? Bloody women."

"The women's liberation movement totally passed you by, didn't it, Matt?" Kiyomi says. "So did just being a decent person. All you do is snort various things up your nose and treat Naomi badly. She'll see that she's wasting her time on you, as is the whole human race, and she'll find someone better. Maybe she already has."

"What do you mean?" he asks, with wide, dry eyes, but Kiyomi only taps the end of her nose with her finger. I don't know what she means either. I'll have to ask her later. L reaches in front of me with his hand outstretched. I want to grab it and thank him for being born.

"Kiyomi, I'd like to shake your hand," he says. Oh.

"It was a pleasure," she smiles back at him as they clasp hands over my plate. This could be described as heartwarming. I imagine that, after a few more evenings like this, we'll be wearing Christmas jumpers and talking about our situation over mulled wine in a log cabin. All I can look at is his blushed lips compared to her painted ones and think of what a wreck they've made of me in their different ways.

"Bitch," Jeevas snipes venomously at Kiyomi, breaking my train of thought.

"Please?"

I sigh loudly. For one brief moment, I'd forgotten that he was still here. "Jeevas, get the fuck out of here."

"Just sack him, darling," Kiyomi tells me. "Properly, this time." She's very bored with her orange juice and is swilling it around in the glass in the hope that it might make it more interesting.

"You two are so perfect for each other it makes me sick. Even more than I was anyway," Jeevas spits at us. He throws some notes on the table which I don't think will cover both his and Naomi's part of the bill. I'll probably end up paying for Mikami too unless he comes back.

"Never mind. Maybe one day you'll find your very own perfect partner. Bacteria or something like that," Kiyomi says. He smiles back at her sarcastically and climbs out of one of the windows and onto the deck outside. If only there was no deck. I could cover up the splash and screaming with a long, fake coughing fit and the panic that would ensue. I'm left with my two favourite people at the table. They balance me out nicely, so I'm quite happy with how this turned out. I might even order dessert.

"Hey."

We all turn to find some tall, dark-haired Westerner standing behind L, who looks pale against the man's weak attempt at a tan. If you're going to tan, do it properly. He must work outdoors. He looks like someone I'd expect to find shirtless and pruning rose bushes in someone's garden. God, I hope that he's not an assassin who's going to tell me why he's going to shoot me before he does. He could at least spare me that.

"Hey," L replies, and it surprises me. I look between them, trying to figure out if I recognise the man or whether L's just come back with improved manners and a liking for gardening assassins. L's friends all seem to look the same, but this one is scruffy around the edges and is dressed very badly. It's possible that I've met him and forgotten. He seems very forgettable.

"So  _this_  is where you disappeared to. Am I interrupting something?" the man says. Well, yes, actually. Who the fuck are you and why are you here? He speaks decent Japanese but he has an accent from somewhere I can't place. Thankfully, I see my bodyguard appear behind him, so I'm alright.

"Can I help you?" I ask. My guard is going to help him the hell away from me soon but I must at least give him a chance to have something to tell his grandchildren one day.

"Prime Minister Yagami, isn't it? And Mrs Yagami! Why didn't you tell me?" he asks L for some reason. "I would have..."

"Brushed your hair?" L suggests flatly.

"Yeah," he laughs, pressing his blown about rat's bed of a hairstyle down. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting business. I'm just sorry if I'm interrupting."

"You're not. Do you want to go? It's just that we're kind of stuck on here until the captain's had enough," L says. I am infinitely confused. Is this a pick up? Do they even know each other? I know that L works fast but not this fast. He's doing this on purpose and forcing me to sit through it, isn't he? Bastard. I feel my eyes narrow when I realise what he's trying to do. And there was me thinking that he was going to be reasonable in this. L stares down my bodyguard, who has his hand prepped on the gun at his hip. The stranger turns around and notices how close he is to death.

"Whoa, is that a Sig P230?!" he asks excitedly, taking the gun from the guard's holster and turning it over in his hands. "I haven't seen one of these for years! Is this what they issue you with now? My uncle had one of these when I was a kid."

"That's very interesting. Now give the nice man his gun back," L says, delicately pinching the barrel between two fingers, taking it out of the man's hands and offering it to my bodyguard, who looks dazed. I'll have to get more officers sent over from the Security Bureau to replace him because he's obviously hopeless and this is humiliating.

"It's alright, you can go," Kiyomi tells the guard. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend, Lawliet-san?" she asks. L makes no move to explain and the lunatic next to him laughs after a few seconds of waiting.

"Obviously not. It's always me who has to take the initiative, isn't it?" he says to L before bowing to Kiyomi and I deeply. "I'm Stephen Gevanni. Pleased to meet you. I didn't think that I'd be meeting the Prime Minister and his wife on a boat after seeing a Hitchcock retrospective. What a day."

As soon as he says his name, I look at L, who's purposefully avoiding me, and he's standing now like he's ready to run off. Straight back into awkwardness again then. I don't know what all this is supposed to signify but it's a piss poor attempt and a waste of time. It genuinely hurts me that he felt that he'd have to stoop to this level just to get my attention. While I sit there without words, Kiyomi decides to play hostess.

"Pleased to meet you too. I'm Kiyomi and this is my husband, Light, and please, no formalities. You went to the retrospective? My sister is the curator there. Which film did you see?" she says. She clearly likes this stranger who's straight out of a fortune teller's crystal ball and would like him as part of our social circle. I have no say in it.

"We saw  _Vertigo_  this afternoon. Tell your sister that she's done a great job. We had a good time," the Gevanni man answers.  _Vertigo_? What the fucking fuck? On the face of it, it doesn't mean anything, but I know that it's one of L's favourite films and he has a poster from it on his living room wall. Well, he did at one point. And they had a good  _shitting_ time. Fuck.

"I've never seen that film! Sit down, Stephen," Kiyomi more or less commands him.

L watches this 'Stephen' man and all his teeth sit next to Kiyomi. He continues to stand for a few moments before sitting back down himself in Mikami's chair, opposite me, which is useful because I can decipher his face and shoot daggers at him at the same time.

"I'd never seen it before either, don't worry," Gevanni admits. Oh, he means  _Vertigo_. He's very nice and polite and honest, isn't he? I dislike him intensely. He's just barged in on a private party, is trying to steal L, demonstrated how useless my bodyguard is, he's suddenly my wife's best friend and all in the space of three minutes. "L said that I had to see it or he wouldn't be able to have a decent conversation with me about anything ever again,' he says, turning to L with an insipid smile.

"It's essential," L informs us like he's Roger fucking Ebert. "If you haven't seen it, you're culturally and emotionally void so, no, I wouldn't be able to talk to you."

"Have you seen it, Prime Minister?" Gevanni asks, desperate to include me in the conversation. "Please tell me that I'm not the only one who was, until now, culturally and emotionally void."

I don't reply, I just look him over. Him and his blue eyes and his cheap suit. I'm amazed that he found something so cheap that it looks intentional. Maybe it's an anti-establishment statement? He looks like he could be that kind of cunt. It's too tight and short in the arms and the padding at the shoulders is shit on a stick. No cufflinks. Terrible tie. Has he stuffed the end of the tie through his shirt like a schoolboy? I want to see his shoes to make a complete evaluation, although I'm almost certain that they're going to be scuffed brown loafers which he's wearing over white cotton socks. They're probably machine overlocked by three-year-olds who are paid a peanut a day in a sweat shop. I only ever wear hand-linked silk or cashmere socks unless I'm running. Natural fibre on the leg and instep, reinforced with microfibre at the toe and heel for increased durability, fit and wicking properties. They're just better. He wouldn't know what a properly finished sock looks like. The whole thing is a disaster. He's a disaster.

"Light?" Kiyomi prompts me, but gives up quickly and goes back to Gevanni. "Ignore him, he's got a headache. What's it like?"

"It was... weird and depressing. I liked it more than the one about the killer birds though. There's some great lines in it. What was that one, L? The one you like? The line she says to Jimmy Stewart when they're in the forest."

"Here I was born, and there I died," L answers.

"It was only a moment for you. You took no notice," I say slowly, perfectly still in my chair and in perfect, memorised English, completing the quote. His eyes flash back to mine and I love the colour of them. I've been waiting for them and for them to look at me properly. They reflect everything they see back at you, filtering and changing them with his thoughts like mine do, but no one else sees it. No, you didn't think I'd watch that film, did you? I remember looking at the poster in his house and thinking that the orange madness of it was kind of ugly. Then L talked about the film as we stood in front of the framed print like we were in an art gallery. I think I was bored then. It was a long time ago. He said that line to me. He told me about the scene because it was his favourite. When I actually watched the film a few weeks after he left, it was just how he'd described it. I felt like I'd seen it before.

"I didn't know that you'd seen it, Light!" Kiyomi says, nudging my shoulder with hers mockingly. "So, you're seeing each other then? Lawliet-san, you dark horse."

Gevanni agrees, nodding his head like one of those crap toys you see in some of those independent taxis that I tried to avoid when I had need of them. He turns towards L, making him break his eyes away from mine. I hate him as much as I hate murderers.

"It's a shit film. I'm glad you liked it," I tell him. Yes, Prime Ministers can swear too. I am not safe for work right now. The look on their faces is priceless.

"Is the ship docking?" L asks Gevanni.

"I don't know. I could find out if you want," he says, his expression changing like water into ice. I should be saying that. L should be asking me and I'd be desperate to leave with him. Desperate to get away from all these people, and Kiyomi and this Gevanni person shouldn't even be here. Gevanni looks worried when faced with L's indecipherable expressions, when I understand him. I put a lot of years in until I did understand him. A lot of thoughts and hours upon hours and words and fucks and bruises and torn muscles until I understood him, and it couldn't be for nothing. Not to be forgotten as an 'experience' and something which passed the time. This is all wrong. Unlike L, he's is one of those idiots who can't hide what they think, and I know everything I need or ever want to know about him. Even my eyes have had enough of him and look down to my lap and the inverted triangle of unfocused patterned carpet in the gap between my legs. My shoes look pointlessly well polished. I feel pointlessly well polished. My shock has become a disbelief and a smouldering anger which might flare up at the slightest thing, but mostly I feel stricken and desolate. Even more so when Kiyomi taps me twice on the arm like I'm a fucking ouija board.

"Light, pour Stephen a drink. So, what do you do? Are you a lawyer too?"

I pour some wine into Kiyomi's unused glass and Gevanni looks at it, offended by the measly amount I've given him, but takes it before answering Kiyomi's question.

"I'm in the CIA," he says proudly, sipping like a bitch. I look at L for an explanation for all this, but he's staring out of the windows now. He couldn't have found any old person, he had to find a foreign agent on holiday, didn't he? Well, I hope he's satisfied.

"Oh..." Kiyomi looks at me, unsure of how to take this news. What's the official opinion? I look up at the ceiling. The government doesn't consider him a threat. He's a simpering moron in a bad suit. She seems to understand this and faces him again. "But you speak Japanese so perfectly!"

"Thank you," he smiles. "That's probably why I was sent. I'm just helping out with a case over here."

"What case?" But he comes over all classified and coy, so she tries to ease him into her trust. "It's ok, you can tell us."

"It's concerning Secretary Wedy's death."

"Oh, yes, that was so sad. She seemed lovely, didn't she, Light? You spoke with her more than I did."

"She was interesting," I say. "Her death was very unfortunate." And beyond that I have nothing to add. Kiyomi rolls her eyes at me. She was expecting my best behaviour and charm for this meeting with a nobody who has the personality of a piece of dry toast. I should say how tragic it is because she was 'lovely' and 'nice' and 'too young' but she was none of those things, it didn't upset me and it wasn't tragic. It was only annoying that she'd decided to die in my country and I knew that I'd be pestered by the press for a few days. I don't want to impress anyone, let alone some agent who probably spends his life eating bagels. I made a short statement which encapsulated my devastation just after she died. If he's worth anything at all, he would know that.

"What did she die of?" Kiyomi digs at Gevanni, her interest piqued with the possibility of scandal, murder and conspiracy. "Any news yet? It's not murder is it?"

"I can't really discuss it, unfortunately. It's confidential," he replies with a regretful smugness. Boring bastard.

"It looks like deep vein thrombosis but these things drag out with multiple autopsies and tests which apparently take eight weeks. I had an office block built in eight weeks; who do they think they're kidding? And how dare a politician die abroad? It has to be suspicious," L elaborates. Gevanni looks at him with the stupid, shocked expression of thousands on his face.

"L!"

"You can't discuss it, but I can."

He glances at me and my smile briefly, but quickly looks back down at the table and starts aligning the cutlery in front of him.

"Ha, you..." Gevanni elbows him before turning back to Kiyomi. "Anyway, I'll be here for another month or so until it winds up."

"Oh, that's sad. Just a few more weeks?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'll stay," he says, looking at L's downcast face. The corner of L's lip turns upwards slightly as he breathes out a soundless laugh, and if I could, I'd kill them both right now. I'd do it just to prove a point. If I could stop and reverse time to do all the things I'd like to do, it would take me a year to get through a single day, but I'd start with killing them over and over again.

"The boat's stopped. We'd better go or we'll be trapped here all night," L states, standing. "Kiyomi, thanks for the entertainment."

"You're welcome."

Gevanni stares up at him like he's preparing himself for a huge joke he's missed out on. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you in the car. See you," he says to the table, and walks away. Nothing for me.

"He does that disappearing thing a lot, doesn't he?" Gevanni asks. "Oh well. It was nice to meet you both."

"I hope that you decide to stay, Stephen" Kiyomi says, holding her hand out to shake his.

"So do I, Kiyomi. Prime Minister Yagami."

He bows to me, the little toad, and traipses after L. Kiyomi drinks her orange juice in the silence which enters the stage upon their departure, leans back in her chair in an unguarded moment of terrible posture and holds my hand on my lap.

"And then it's just us," she says.

 


	2. Every Mighty Mild Seventies Child Beats Me

Near River has turned up at the club. He did a very lethargic clap after one of my many mini speeches in the House this afternoon and everyone stared at him, unsure of what he meant by it. My immediate thought was sarcasm, but having reviewed what I said several times since, I can't see anything he could be sarcastic about. I've decided instead that he was impressed with me. Now that he's turned up tonight in a club as the sole red in a roomful of blue, I think he might be thinking of switching sides. Good for him.

L slides up beside me like he always did, and I continue to watch River with my arms crossed. It's not like I want to give him the impression that I'll welcome him in with open arms. He has to prove himself to me first. That goes for L and River. As for L, I haven't seen him since the party. I was going to go to his office all guns blazing first thing on Monday, but then I thought that that was exactly what he wanted me to do, other things happened and I forgot. He's sniffing like a child who's just been denied an expensive toy, and he's a bit red around the nose. I'd like to think that he's been crying violently and often in toilets scattered around the government quarter. He's gone to the trouble of finding some CIA boyfriend for nothing.

"River again, eh?" he says, clutching his whiskey in two hands. "He gets around for someone with no friends. How long are you going to let him stay for before you kick him out?"

"No. It's fine. He might be thinking of defecting. Let him look around and see how the other half live."

"Really? Are you feeling ok?"

He looks at me in disbelief. I turn to him with my sex face and sex voice, which he's obviously not prepared for even if he wasn't sick.

"Do I look ok?" I ask him slowly. He doesn't know what to say, so he looks away like a shy bastard with a runny nose. "Are you ill?"

"I'm getting over a cold and it's effectively ruined my entire week so far," he mumbles. "Don't worry, it's not contagious anymore, it's just worse when the central heating's on. Please don't give it the attention it so desperately craves."

"Weird looking man, isn't he?" Touta says from my right. He means River. We all look back at the little white Red. I suppose that it would be quite intimidating for him if he saw us glaring and wasn't playing darts on his own.

"There's something repellently fascinating about what passes for a politician nowadays," L breathes out as his head lists to one side like he's half-confused and half-thinking that he might figure him out from a slanted angle. Fascinating is a word he's only applied to me since I've known him, so I find this very irritating.

"Do you think he's one of you?" Touta asks him, and L looks at him inquisitively.

"One of me? Oh, I'm with you. Don't ask me; my gaydar is shit. Light knows this. I know, I know. You wouldn't think it, would you? It's a cruel blow not to be blessed with such an intuitive ability which would be so useful to me, but I can't often tell these days unless men let me know in a rimming sort of way. When I was at university, you were either Quentin Crisp and therefore obvious, or you wore a flat cap in a jaunty way and maybe a harness of some kind. There was a whole sub-language for everyone else. I miss the clarity. This metrosexualism has made life so complicated for me.

"Don't get any ideas, Lawliet," Touta tells him as we all resume staring at River. "He's red."

"Please, I'm a happily one-manned man, but I can still admire things in a detached way. It merely proves my devotion that I won't follow it up. Besides, I can't imagine  _that_  doing anything vaguely sexual. He reminds me of one of those marble statues in the Vatican. Nothing too raunchy to get the bishops into a frenzy, just a chaste youth with a far away look in his eyes." He strokes his chin lightly with the tip of his finger and I see an opportunity to make him revert back to his normal philandering self, make him laugh, get rid of Mr CIA and get some goods on the opposition at the same time.

"It could be a challenge," I say. "I could commission you."

"Light!" Touta exclaims. I'm not sure why.

"Oh, shut up, Touta."

"Light, what are you suggesting?" L asks. "I'm not the House tart you can whore out to extract information. It's a shame that Jeevas is no longer here. He'd probably jump at the chance, regardless of gender. Doesn't he look pure though. He's like the anti-you. Glorious and angelic and hope eternal. Stands a chance."

Touta is scandalised further even though I smile at the heresy that there could be a time when I'm beaten and not in power. "That's a horrible thing to -"

"Shut up, Matsuda. I'm not talking to you," L says curtly.

"Light?"

"He wasn't talking to you, Touta. I doubt that he'd win even if I died and Watari was leader. With that complexion, he shouldn't even consider wearing a white suit. No one should wear a white suit anyway."

"Apart from John Travolta," L suggests.

"Not even him. I can forgive him because it was the seventies and men's style went into hibernation during that decade, but no."

"I hear that he's done irreversible damage to his testicles since those tight trousers. I don't really remember the seventies - I was too young to appreciate genitalia - but I do remember my brother wearing a pair of white flares which he couldn't sit down in, a bit like John Travolta. I'm going to talk to him."

"Is John Travolta here?" Touta asks as L makes a beeline for River. I realise then that I don't really want him to philander.

"L, come back," I demand. It's proof of his intelligence that he actually does what I say.

"Prime Minister, I'm simply being friendly. Don't tell me that you're worried because they've sacked their Head of PR? Are you concerned that I might fly the nest into his pale thighs and turn red?"

"Not at all. I want to speak to you."

"Go on then."

"In private. Make yourself available at from eleven on Monday for a meeting. I'll come to your office because I'm having my walls repainted. Don't make any plans for lunch or the early afternoon."

"This sounds like a very long meeting," he says suspiciously.

"We have seven months worth of work to catch up on thanks to the fantastic substitute you recommended while you were away."

"I'm almost certain that I've caught up with your memos," he muses, scratching his head with a crooked finger. Nothing annoys me more than when he plays stupid and coy.

"L, do you want to be disciplined?" I ask.

"No."

"Then stop making excuses and do it. Thank you."

He resumes his place next to me and slumps back against the wall. We stand in silence then while he tears open a powdered flu remedy and pours it into his whiskey. Straight into the bloodstream. Go.

* * *

When I get home, all the lights are already on, which is one of the good and bad things about having a wife. I don't have to bother putting lights on, but the electricity bill has tripled as a result. It's just as well that it's a state expense and not mine.

"Light?" she calls out. I'm not sure who else she thinks it might be.

"Hello," I shout back. She appears from around a corner wearing a black plastic cape and has silver foil in her hair. I think that maybe she's trying to communicate with interplanetary craft.

"Welcome home," she says, kissing my cheek quickly.

"What's with the –"

"Don't talk to me about it. I'm wretched. Actually wretched. You should see the mess this woman has made of my hair. She's trying to fix it now. 'Subtle highlights', I said. What did I get? Ginger and bright blonde. Brassy as a trumpet." As speaks she she starts to choke on her devastation, patting her chest with her flat hand to ease herself through the horror. I stand there emotionless.

"But she's fixing it," I clarify for the good of my own peace of mind.

"That's what she says."

"It's half eleven, you know."

"I  _know_!" she nearly shrieks but gets a hold of herself. "I want to stab her in the eye with her scissors."

"Right. Well, I'm going to bed."

"Ok. Oh, you know that we have an appointment tomorrow."

"I have to be there?"

"Not if you really don't want to. It does concern you and it is important but it's fine. I'll take Naomi."

I sigh heavily. "What time is the appointment?"

"One o'clock," is the answer. I nod and she kisses me on the lips, just as quickly as she did before, and walks back to wherever she came from. I hear her saying to an apologetic hairdresser that it really is alright, she's very pleased with her hair and that they're doing a great job. I think that one day I might bite her nipples off.

* * *

I meet Mihael first and tell him that I've come to speak to L. Yes, 'to', not 'with' L. L doesn't have to say a thing. In fact, I'd rather that he didn't. The blonde scrounger huffs, opens the door with such storming force as he goes into L's office so that it smacks against the wall and comes back at me. I consider this a disrespectful way to announce my arrival, considering who I am now. L's at his desk and, as I walk in, I catch him closing his laptop. Seeing him there, still willowy, though not as much as he used to be, makes me feel that it really was worth waking up this morning. When I first met him, I thought that he should go to the gym, eat more protein and work harder, but then it just didn't seem to matter anymore. I'm exactly as I was when I was twenty one. I do not change, but he comes back different. I'm almost sad that he's not the same half-dead, bright-eyed, smiling thing that left me standing on the pavement months ago. Part of me has been standing there ever since.

"It makes me very nervous when you smile at me like that," he says as he bends over to put some things in a drawer. I didn't realise that I was smiling. I hate it when someone points out that my face isn't doing its job. My face is my fort. I rely on it to never show what I'm thinking.

"I'm sorry that it's so unappealing," I say, as casually as I can. There's a large framed picture on his wall which catches my attention because I've never seen it before. Not in L's office. It's a smaller Ogata Gekko print that I used to have in my office years ago.

"The Sino-Japanese wars interest me. War interests me," he tells me, referring to the topic of the print and possibly trying to excuse the fact that he owns it in the first place.

"Yes. How was  _Vertigo_  for you? I don't think that you said."

"It was nice to see it on a big screen but it ended as badly as it always does. Fucking nuns," he replies.

"What's all this about nuns with vertigo fucking?" Mihael asks from his desk. I had an separate office built for him, but he's moved his desk into L's office anyway by the looks of it. I wonder if it was his doing or L's.

"Oh! You're talking to me now, are you?" L says to him in surprise and throws a ball of elastic bands towards him. Mihael dodges it with practiced skill and it disappears behind a pot plant.

"No way, but when someone mentions fucking nuns I have to find out more."

"You deranged Catholic. I should just arrange a day trip to the cinema for everyone I know. I can't bear this ignorance." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, holding a few notes towards Mihael. "Mihael, I'm going to give you a gift. Have your lunch now. Take this and go to a shop and buy  _Vertigo_  on DVD. Watch it tonight. You might be disappointed with the lack of fucking nuns but I want a five thousand word essay about it in the morning."

"Eh?"

"Yep. Bye," L says. Mihael never did need to be told twice. He grabs his coat, walks past me and leaves. I shut the door behind him.

"Do you really expect him to write an essay?" I ask. He looks up at me with a blank, even bored expression.

"No, but he'll cut and paste someone's thesis and say that it's his. He can be quite industrious and shameless in his procrastination. Scheming, even. So, how  _can_  I help you, Prime Minister? After such a long time, seeing you four times in three weeks is a wonder to behold."

"I wanted to see how you are and thought that we should catch up without an audience. I wanted to see how you're doing. That you're adjusting and coping with the workload."

"Ha. Hilarious. Well, I seem to be managing due to this handy flow chart that Mihael drew up, though I can't make sense of it and he's won't explain it to me. Do you want a breakdown of the work I've done today?"

"No," I say, sitting opposite him.

"I'm pleased to hear that. I'd find that very insulting."

"Your friend didn't seem impressed."

"I'm sorry?"

"With the film."

"Yeaaah, I'm not sure if he got it really," he says, smiling stupidly. "But as it turns out, I seem to be able to suffer his particular ignorance. Why do you care?"

"No reason."

"Ok. Do you want a coffee? I bought one of those things." He points towards a coffee maker which is surrounded by torn apart chocolate dust sachets and dirty mugs.

"No, thanks." I will choose my health over coffee in an unhygienic cup. This has no effect on him and he swigs from a grubby-looking mug of his own. "How's your cold?"

"It's abandoned me with only a lingering memory of tiredness. How are you today?"

"Fine."

"No headache now?"

"No. If I don't act in the way Kiyomi thinks I should, she says that I have a headache or some other medical problem, so I suppose that I must have had a headache. I haven't been told that I have one today."

"That's quite clever of her. Illness excuses all rudeness. And how is Kiyomi? She looked and sounded full of peppy good humour and bile."

"She's fine too."

"Right. Isn't this pleasant. I think we've caught up now. Is there anything else you want to discuss? It's just that I'm quite busy and I want to get home by seven."

"No. That's all. Alright. See you then," I say, stand and start walking towards the door. With my hand on the door handle, I stop. What am I doing? It's almost as if I forgot what I came here for. "It's just... the CIA? Could you have found anyone less appropriate?"

"Oh, there it is," he smiles and leans back in his chair. "This is about Stephen? I had no idea, really. He's in the CIA? How did he get that one past me? Am I cursed to be fooled by people my whole life? Sweet baby  _Jesus_!"

"It's not funny," I tell him. I'd rather do this standing, actually. He's in a mood which requires me to look down on him. He's already at a disadvantage because he's not wearing a jacket or a tie.

"I'm very sorry but, yes, he is in the CIA. It's the sole reason that I picked him up and moved him into my house, just to annoy you. Of course it is. Does that bother you?"

"No. I don't care who you fuck around with."

"Because it's none of your business," he nods. "That's very decent of you. Yes."

"Just as long as you don't tell him anything restricted. Which is everything"

"We don't talk about work, it makes a nice change. So, is that it? I swear not to talk to him about anything."

"How serious is it exactly?" I ask like a concerned friend. I suppose that I am a concerned friend. I'm concerned anyway. He scratches the bridge of his nose with his thumb.

"Erm..."

"I mean, how long have you been seeing him? He's in your house?" He's in his house. Why would he move a stranger into his house? He never asked me to move in. Not that I would have, but he could have asked.

"Light, you're making this difficult."

"Am I? Good. I hope that you find this as difficult and painful as possible."

"Why are you so worried? I haven't brought you this far to dump you in it in the throes of passion with the first man who comes my way."

This hits me on so many levels that I want to pick up his coffee and throw it in his face, but then my brain tells me that I should retain the calm, unaffected reserve which gets me through life.

"I'm not worried, but it's my responsibility to make sure that you're not acting inappropriately considering the sensitivity of our situation."

"Ha!" he snorts. "Sorry."

"No, carry on."

"I don't require your permission to say what I'm thinking. I just find you hypocritical and patronising, but that's hardly new."

"L, you work for my government and know it inside out. He's in the CIA investigating the death of the US Secretary of State who died in this country and you don't think that that's inappropriate?"

"No, he's a professional and I never kiss and tell. Hardly ever. We don't discuss anything vaguely classified. Scout's honour. Is this really about him being in the CIA or is it just because he exists?"

"I don't like him, no," I admit, and sit down again. I'd hope that this admission alone might make him reevaluate what he's doing and look at his idiot in a very bright light which highlights all the blemishes and failings and unadulterated blandness, but he probably won't.

"I'm sure that'll really upset him. Have the police spoken to you about this whole Wedy business?" he asks.

"No, why would they want to speak to me? I wasn't even in Tokyo when it happened."

"You know that doesn't mean anything. You could have been in another country altogether."

I can't stop myself from laughing at this new turn and the fact that he looks so serious about it.

"What? Do you think I had her killed?"

"It happens in politics," he shrugs. Oh, yes. It does, doesn't it? We all know that it does but it's never spoken about. One day he's going to tell me all about it. But not now.

"What exactly has this CIA shit told you?"

"Don't call him that. I only know one side of the story, I just want to know yours." He leans towards me with a kind expression of understanding and unfailing loyalty. Again, I want to throw his coffee in his face and rip his shirt to pieces. "Light, you can tell me. It'll go no further."

"I can't believe that you think that I had her killed. I can't believe it. What the hell does he think?"

"Not him. The CIA. They're suspicious, obviously, since they sent agents over to investigate and they're very interested in all these deaths in the Cabinet over the last few years. I'm giving you a heads up here. If you have anything to hide, you have to tell me or I can't help you."

"I don't need your help. I have nothing to hide. I was happy to let Foreign, Business and Transport bash it out with her. Our bid is by far the leading contender for the rail plan there. I'm confident in that. I saw her once and that was only to be fucking polite."

"You disagreed about the rail plan. Her deputy supported you and she supported the Chinese bid. And now she's dead."

"He supported me? I didn't know," I say. He seems to find it very amusing for a few seconds, looks away to laugh and then turns back to me again with a face like fury. And all the time I just sit there with the same blank expression, I'm sure.

"You would have been all over this. It's a potentially multi-billion investment in the economy. Don't tell me that you didn't know that she was leaning towards building links with China."

"How would I know that?"

"The deputy said that he spoke to you about it."

"Yes, for like, five minutes, and he was eating wasabi peas at the time. It doesn't matter anyway. If we weren't going to win the bid, it's no reason to kill someone. It's really nice to know that you think that I would do something so petty."

"That sort of money wouldn't be a petty reason. Did he tell you that she was supporting an investment in China?"

"Are we in court, L? No. Or rather, I do not recall."

"Light," he sighs tiredly. I'm sorry that I didn't think to bring some cigarettes with me, because I'd really like something to occupy myself with right now. I feel just like I'm back in that boardroom during the inquiry with him; his side parting and slick hair for the occasion, talking down to me and calling me an idiot in front of the commissioners. I don't mind. I can put up with a lot of shit from people if I have to, but it all goes in the little book in my head. I remember it.

"I had nothing to do with it," I tell him. "I fed her, I went to Nagano the next day and she died the day after that. I thought that you said she died of deep vein thrombosis."

"They're saying that because she'd recently taken a long haul flight and they want to shut the press up. There's no official cause of death."

"Well, there you go. People sometimes just drop down dead. Is it my fault that she decided to do that in my country?"

"They suspect poisoning. Maybe even radiation poisoning, and I don't need to tell you the effect that would have on the travel industry if it got out. They're doing shit loads of tests right now, so if you have anything to say you better tell me so I can -"

"What?"

"We could blame it on China. I'll find someone to blame. We could infer that they felt threatened by the strength of our bid so they sent some crackpot over."

"There's no reason to blame anyone. As far as I know, she just died. No need to panic and start pointing the finger, especially since the first person you think could have killed her was me. Nice, L. Really nice."

"You need to make a statement to Stephen and clear this up," he says with some lording tone of finality as he looks over his desk again. Like I want to speak to his precious Stephen about anything.

"They haven't approached me so why should I volunteer a statement? That would look guilty as anything and I have nothing to be guilty about."

"They're worried that they'll offend you if they ask."

"They're right," I smile. "I would be fucking offended. The bid would be withdrawn."

"Don't be stupid. You'll probably win the bid now that the deputy's taking over anyway, but if you don't make a statement and be as helpful as possible then there's always going to be a cloud over this where you're concerned."

"Let them ask me when they find proof."

"They have no proof; they have suspicions, and that's just as damaging in the longterm. Will they find proof?"

"Oh my God!" I laugh, falling back in my chair, but it makes no difference to him.

"Just tell me," he says.

"Are you saying that if I  _had_  had her killed, you'd help cover it up?"

"As I say, it happens in politics."

"When does it happen, L?"

"It just does."

"Did it happen when you were working for The Lady?"

"This isn't about The Lady, this is about you and  _your_  government."

"Ok. I had nothing to do with it. I'm sorry if that disappoints you. Tell your boyfriend. And tell him that if the CIA come knocking on my door, I'll show them how petty I can be."

"He's not the enemy. The CIA don't want to believe that you're responsible. If you make some effort then they'll be more than happy to put it down to deep vein thrombosis or whatever else they think is less likely to cause hysterics and conspiracy theories. Stephen doesn't know you, therefore he'll believe you."

"I don't give a shit what he believes. But you don't believe me? Welcome the fuck back, L. I missed being accused of murder while you were away."

"Honestly, Light, I don't care if you did or you didn't. I'm well over my hope that you could be a good Prime Minister, but my job is to make sure that you stay Prime Minister, and that's the only reason I'm telling you this. I have two mortgages to pay."

"Yeah, that's why you're back. Keep telling yourself that," I say. I cross my arms and he points his finger at me while his eyes burn like smouldering charcoal.

"You were the one who sent me a reminder of my contract. I've never had a reissue in a sympathy card before. You couldn't even sign it yourself; you got one of your big-haired typing girls to do it. Thank you very much."

"Do I have to remind you that I'm really fucking busy? Do you know how many stupid people I have to wrangle here? I don't have time to compose little sonnets to you."

" _I'm_  busy but I still would find thirty seconds to write and sign a sympathy card. Write it yourself or don't bother sending one."

"Like I have time or can risk writing you letters. I have to change my phone every few days in case the press hack it. I keep your job open for you and people talked, L. They thought it was favouritism because it was. I knew that would happen and that it was like pissing off the Pope, but I did it, and I get nothing. You swan back in and don't even say thank you. You just shack up with the first security breach you can find."

"Security breach?" he repeats after me in an overwrought, hurt way. He must have lost some braincells while he was away.

"Oh, please. You know he's only with you to get to me. It's obvious."

"I didn't know that you've added paranoia to your list of personality traits. He has never asked about you."

"He must have, otherwise you wouldn't know about all this CIA bollocks with the Secretary."

"All he said to me was the reason he was here and the deep vein thrombosis theory. He didn't sound convinced but he never mentioned a suspected link with you. I only found out more because he left his laptop at my house. I guessed his password."

"So he's stupid then."

"No, just trusting. He was wrong to trust me, but he is not stupid. You confuse niceness with stupidity, and it's not always the case. He's rereading all of  _In Search of Lost Time_. In French. Can you read French? No. And who the hell has read it willingly in any language? He has annotations in the margins for Christ's sake."

"That's really not a strong argument for his intelligence."

"You bought books if you thought they'd look nice on your shelves. Only if the spines complimented the décor, you vacuous twat," he says with a raised voice. He knocks a pen off the desk with his elbow, picks it up off the floor and tosses it back on the papers with a violence that I wish he'd take out on me instead. I feel my lips pout at the implication that I'm both vain and uncultured.

"I read."

"The only time I saw you read a book it was about the exchange rate."

"I just don't read in company because it's rude."

"You should be rude sometimes then. You might learn something about humanity."

"Get bent."

"I am bent.  _You_  get bent. You're in my office."

"You're in my building."

"You moved my office here!" he shouts. He's factually right, I suppose.

"Let's calm down for a minute. I'll say one thing and then I'll go. Yes, he's a security breach, and I don't know what you're trying to do but it looks to me like you're deliberately trying to antagonise me. I want him gone. Send him on his way and we'll meet tomorrow for whatever." I stand to start making my exit. That's all I came to tell him.

"I'm going to take that as a rare instance of flattery, clumsy as it was, and I'm not going to go with my instinct, which is to beat you around the head with my computer. It's nothing to do with you. I'm not 'sending him on his way' and I'm not interested in 'whatever' with you, whenever," he says, still in his chair. He's a brave man.

"We have an arrangement," I remind him slowly.

"I don't believe that it's in my contract that you have a say over who I can see and can't see and that I have to knock cocks with you on Tuesdays. We're fine. We're just business now, so try to understand that part." I must look confused because he sighs and pulls out a small bottle of vodka from of his desk drawer, pouring a shot into his cold coffee to make it drinkable. "Look, I know this is strange coming from me, but I'm in a relationship now, out in the open and everything, and he's not the sort of person who would appreciate me sleeping around like it's Woodstock in sixty-nine. I said that I wouldn't leave you. I'll help you, but only in a business sense. We can be friends, can't we?"

"We've never been friends."

"Well, let's try. If it doesn't work out then I'll leave and we'll just write it off."

Simple as that. Out of sight, out of mind. He's probably right but I'd rather find an alternative to that. He's very good at PR, amongst other things, and it's boring when he's not here. I sigh and massage the back of my neck briefly because I think I genuinely am getting a headache.

"Ok, what do I have to do?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"You obviously want me to do or say something to make you get rid of him. Tell me what you want, but make it reasonable because I'm limited in what I can do on a personal level now, you know that."

"Light, you're consistently misunderstanding me. I don't want anything from you."

"This is an ultimatum, isn't it? You're angry with me because I didn't call you or sign a fucking sympathy card, so you're making me choose."

"No!" he says, scrunching up his face like the idea had never crossed his mind. "I'm not angry at all. I could have called you but I didn't, and I didn't expect you to call."

"You  _told_  me not to call. You said that you wouldn't speak to me."

"I did tell you that and I meant it. I'm not playing a coquette here. I'm not sure what you think I'm doing."

"I can't leave Kiyomi," I say, pinching my eyes shut because I really can't. Part of me wants to, part of me doesn't. But I can't anyway.

"I'm not asking you to! I don't know how long it'll last between you two but I'm interested to find out."

"Then what?"

"Nothing at all, really. I'm with Stephen now and my personal life is nothing to do with you, not that it ever was. I'm sorry, but it's much easier this way."

"You're right. I don't understand. You'll have to spell it out for me because I don't do inverted speech."

"You're not good for me. Stephen is," he explains softly, making it sound like that's the end of the conversation. He fishes some papers out from the pile on his desk. "We should discuss work while you're here to stop this from being a complete waste of time. Since I've been back and you're completely out of the loop now, I've hired some moles in a few departments who are keeping track of rumours. I've got moles on the moles, in fact. Here's the list. Memorise it and shred it," he says, pushing the paper across the desk towards me.

"How am I not good for you? You never said that before."

"I did, a few times."

"You didn't mean it. You were just being lazy."

"I wasn't. Now, there aren't many rumours, it seems. Everyone is quite happy and keeping their heads down. Well done, you. But it is expected that you're going to try and bring Mikami back, so I'd suggest that you distance yourself socially from now on."

"I am bringing Mikami back."

"You shouldn't. It would be very, very unpopular in the House and with the public, bordering on being an intensely unfunny comedy sketch which consists of people falling over," he says, drinking his spiked coffee and refusing to look at me.

"Jeevas is on sick leave and will be out completely soon. With the money saved there, I'm going to hire Mikami as my aide and it's no one else's fucking business. Answer my question."

"For the record that we're not keeping, I want it known that I don't approve of Mikami being anywhere near a government building. It would look terrible. Essentially you'd be hand-feeding the press with reasons for the public to hate you. I can see the cartoon strip now."

"Sort it out then."

"And how do you suggest that I do that? Oh, what am I thinking? I have the power to bend the universe to my will. Pass me my sword and shield and I will rescue the fair Mikami."

"Don't pretend to be incompetent," I tell him, and sit down again. The shine on my shoes distracts me for a moment.

"Was that a kind of compliment in there?" he asks. "Wow. I need to top-up my drink for that."

"Just make something up. Something heartbreaking but positive and inspiring. Reformed ex-MP who once had potential, attempts to rebuild his life and save others from what he's been through. 'Drugs are bad' and all that shit. I thought that an article for a weekend print might help, so write him one. I'll bring him in the office next week and we'll discuss it. He needs to know what's expected of him anyway. But you'll have to watch him like a hawk. Any sign of him reverting to his old ways and he's gone, so make sure that he doesn't. Consider him your new pet project."

"Ok..." he sounds out slowly with raised eyebrow for effect.

"Why am I not good for you?"

"God," he sighs, letting his head drop back.

"Because I think that I'm excellent for you. It's not like you've suffered from being with me."

"I have a fractured rib and several old bruises which would argue with that," he replies, staring up at the ceiling.

"Listen, you chased me, you got me. I'm not some bang you can wave off with a 'fun while it lasted'."

"So I'm stuck with you for life? Christ. If I'd known that, I never would have bothered."

"Yes you would," I say.

"Hmmm... well. I've nothing more to say. If you don't mind, I have to write an article on behalf of a fuckwit who's now a repentant, reliable governmental employee."

"No, please say what you're thinking. I'm here to listen to my staff and their concerns; it's part of my  _fantastic_  job now. Why are you calling this off? All this 'you're not good for me' shit is... well. Shit."

"It's been off for a long time. You've just been reminded that I'm alive and that's the only reason that we're having this lovely, useless conversation."

"I hadn't forgotten about you if that's what you think."

"Well, that's nice, but it wouldn't matter if you had. Alright, cards on the table time. I'm tired, Light. And I want something that you can't give me because it involves stability and cups of tea. But I'm very understanding of you. Time's a healer. Your situation is very difficult, but you chose to make it difficult, so my sympathy doesn't stretch all that far. Honestly, I just don't have the energy for you now. I just want a normal life with someone who doesn't care about politics or anything else more than they care for me."

"Oh fuck off, L. Fuck right off. Go and have a angsty sob in the shower but don't give me that. No one is that brainless."

"I must be brainless then, because that's how I felt about you once," he says. It stuns me for a moment, because I wasn't expecting him to say something that very much referred to the past like it was just a terrible mistake he'd made. I knew that it was true. I put up with his sanctimonious attitude for a year until he stopped. To have someone truly on your side, they have to put you before themselves. That's what I waited for and that's what happened. I won. End of. And it's for fucking ever.

"And Stephen is brainless," I nod slowly at the inanity and how boring L's reasoning is. Basically, he's settling like everyone else does. It won't last long. He feels like he has to tell me all his terrible reasons for settling anyway.

"In that respect, yes. If I phone him, he makes time for me. He sits around and plays solitaire while I sulk. He doesn't ask me why I'm sulking and he doesn't moan about it when I'm finished. He's kind to me all the time and very patient, because God knows that I'm not easy to live with. He knows that I work hard in two jobs and he worries about it, but he doesn't say anything about that either. I think that's called respect. I just  _know_  that he worries about me and thinks that my work ethic is fucking insane and that I don't sleep or eat enough. He doesn't tell me but he doesn't hide it. You always did, if you ever cared at all, which I doubt. You're someone who doesn't give anything, so I was just throwing myself into a pit for years, because that's what you are. You take and take and I was killing myself for no reason. If I was younger then maybe I wouldn't mind, but as it is -"

"I'm not worth it. I'm not worth the slight effort and allowances when all you want are nice words and a fussing man in an apron." I could have done without all that and it must show because he starts looking at me like a sympathetic doctor.

"Light, you're worth it, but it's not a slight effort, believe me. Maybe you're looking for someone else; some robot who doesn't need assurance sometimes. Kiyomi would fit that bill. I can't do all that anymore, so don't be offended. Sometimes in life you have to admit defeat and move on. That's what I've done, and that's what you're doing. I thought that you'd be all for this and you'd understand."

"I understand. You can go from something to nothing. You loved me, and now you don't. You're telling me that that's all my fault because I don't constantly bite my nails over your eating habits. I work just as hard as you. Harder. Every second I'm conscious is spent working or thinking about what I have to do."

"I'm sure that Kiyomi will so pleased to hear you talk like that. And that's all true, I know, but you're younger than me. I'm not ancient but I just can't live like that anymore. I'm burned out, Light. I've been doing too much for too long and if I want an easy life then I think I'm allowed one."

"That's reprehensible. I really didn't think that was the kind of person that you are. You disappoint me."

"Hold on," he says with a laugh, putting his hand up to stop me, "I'm dealing with this like an adult. Kind of. This is as mature as I get and I'm handling it pretty well. You're a man who's married a woman you can't possibly feel anything for. You've made a joke out of her and yourself, and what I've done is reprehensible?"

"Feelings don't change. I'm constant like that. Other people aren't. I just didn't think that you were like them."

"I'm sorry that I aspire to normality," he breathes out. "I don't do sharing, and I'm getting to the stage now where going home to dinner and an early night sounds very appealing and, you know, normal. None of which I'd get with you. Your brain is constantly buzzing with things I'm excluded from and I don't understand you. I don't like what I see in you sometimes. People are expendable to you, which wouldn't bother me, except that I'm expendable to you too. Maybe this  _is_  a survival instinct. If I stayed with you, you'd fuck me over eventually."

"I wouldn't."

"Ok then, Light. It looks like I'm letting you down. I'm sorry."

"No, you're lying. I think that whatever you feel for people doesn't change, no matter what they do. I hate Jeevas and I will always hate Jeevas. I trust Kiyomi and I will always trust her. I don't trust Mikami and I will never trust him. And I love you, and I will always love you."

"That's a song, you know that, right? You've just plagiarised a Whitney Houston... wait, no, a Dolly Parton song, to try and get my pants off."

"Oh shut up. Can't you take anything seriously?"

"Not from you, no. You and declarations of undying love don't go together very well. It's like strawberries in balsamic vinegar; it's just wrong, no matter how many people tell you that it works. You're lucky I'm not laughing you out of the room."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you."

"A little, I admit," he smiles and finishes his coffee. "It's the sadist in me. The same one who dislocated your shoulder."

"Are you happy now? Have you just waited to humiliate me? Because I've never done that to you."

"You believe it, don't you. You believe that you love me." He stares at me and finds the answer before looking away. Then he speaks quietly, like a whisper, while his eyes search the floor. "God. You know what's sad about this? If you'd said it a year ago. Two years ago."

"I did tell you. Why is it sad?"

"Because it wouldn't have made any difference."

"That makes no sense."

"I'm still trying to remember when you said anything nice to me. Which time are you talking about?"

"If you don't remember than I suppose it didn't matter."

"Oh! I know! You mean when you signed your statement for candidacy? Give me a break!"

"Yes, then. I just can't do anything right with you, can I."

"Nope, you can't. We're not even on different pages, we're in different books. Well, I'm sorry if I missed such a soaring promise of love and devotion, but it doesn't matter. You chose what you have, you didn't choose me. You didn't mean it then and you don't mean it now. It's more irritating than anything else. I don't want to hear that from anyone but Stephen."

"Ha. Wait, a minute, I think I'm going to be sick. This is a bit... You really don't have to try so hard, you know. I'm here, aren't I? All this is unnecessary and immature and I don't really have time for it either, entertaining as it is."

"If you think that Stephen is just some way of making you jealous then you need some very strong medication, my friend. I'm explaining things in the hope that you'll understand and stop trying to interfere with my life."

"You've only known him for five minutes!"

"A couple of months, five minutes, whatever."

"You're an idiot."

"And you're a cuntbox," he says with a sarcastic smile. He checks his watch and starts packing things into his briefcase. It's not even half twelve; where does he think he's going? Out for a Caesar salad? "I was only an addition you didn't mind having around. I have thought about this, Light. Too much, considering that I'm a very busy man. My brain should be ninety-nine percent law and dodgy dealings. I feel like sending you an invoice for all the time I've spent on you."

"I don't believe all this Stephen stuff. It just doesn't happen. I might understand and feel  _slightly_  threatened if he was something special but he's so very un-special that I'm sorry for you."

"I don't want to hurt the baby seal-like feelings that you don't have, but do you know what he said to me two weeks ago? 'I don't think that I can live without you, L.' That's what he said. And the first thing I thought of wasn't: 'Oh, how nice. Never had that before from someone who didn't want anything from me.' It was: 'Christ. I knew Light for all those years and he never said anything remotely like that.' You never once gave me any indication that I was essential to you in any way, or that you might miss me if I wasn't there, and it just made me realise that I chased you and it was a waste of time for me. Because all I ever wanted from you was to make me feel like I was needed and important. That's all. I didn't want 'I love you,' which you seem to think is the key to everything, I only wanted something that I'd believe. And you know? I think it's my problem. Validation from you would validate me as a person, because you don't need anyone. Basically, I was searching for El Dorado, and there is no El Dorado. Now there's someone who does need me and makes it bloody obvious, and I should make the most of that. I think that I should stop chasing things that don't exist. Now, excuse me, but I have some self-help books to buy." He stands up and, fuck me, look at him in those trousers. No, don't look at his trousers. I stand up too and block his path to the door.

"If he's said that to you and you fall for it, then great, but you're an idiot if you do and I hate idiots. People don't mean the things they say."

"You don't. Other people aren't as emotionally stunted," he replies.

"Right, L, a savvy piece of advice for you - people lie. You should know that; you're a lawyer."

"A barrister."

"Whatever. You're socially retarded, needy and moody. It actually causes you pain to act in a normal way. Like he'd fall head over heels for you in eight weeks. I didn't even _like_ you in that time."

"Six, actually, and why shouldn't he? To be honest with you, I think he was a gonner within a couple of days, the poor thing."

"Ha! Yeah, right."

"Hey, I'm a great guy and I know it, so it's pointless trying to make me feel inadequate. I've turned two apparently straight men just for the challenge and it really wasn't much of a challenge in either case. I have money and really amazing hair. I'm intelligent and sensitive and fairly considerate. I have a great career, I speak three languages fluently, four more better than most, including Latin and, let's face it, I'm really,  _really_  attractive. Look at my jawline. It's better than yours. It's the dog's bollocks and I just wake up like this. I have a good sense of humour and I like long walks on the beach and I do sex in a eighty-six different positions. You really fucked up. I told you not to. You fucked up and now  _all_ this is nothing to do with you. You're not Light to me anymore. You're the Prime Minister and I work for you, but that's it. Goodbye, Light."

And yes, all that should be on his résumé. At some point while he's been abroad, he's discovered that he has the ability to walk around people instead of expecting them to get out of his way, and now he's out of the office and striding through the department. Not wanting to run after him, I alternate between walking and jogging for a few beats to catch up ground without looking too pathetic. I've nearly caught up with him now that he's waiting for the elevator, until some goon walks out of a conference room and his face lights up with surprise when he sees me.

"Prime Minister! Can I -"

"No, you can't. L!"

"Don't follow me," L says, staring straight ahead at his reflection in the elevator doors, "I'm going to work from home for the afternoon. Dock my wages if you really want to."

Yes, yes, blah, blah. I grab his arm and drag him towards one of the conference rooms. It's lunchtime. Everyone hates a conference which overruns and spills into lunchtime, so of course it's empty, although someone has left the projector running. Even if there was someone here, they wouldn't be here for long.

"Get in here and shut up," I tell him, throwing him into the room.

"I'm a bit fed up of you thinking that you can push me into every empty room going," he says as I close the door behind us.

"We're not done here."

"There's nothing else to say. I thought that I'd made that clear. You can't change my mind."

"Oh yes I can. I did not fuck up. You pissed off and all I did was carry on because what else did you expect me to do? I couldn't really tell everyone that I had to take a few weeks off and postpone my wedding while I play a lute outside your window on the other side of the world. Will you look at me? Don't settle for second best. I won't accept it and I won't let you go, so you better get used to that. All he is is another project for you, like I was. Someone you can fill your time with so you're not so fucking lonely."

"Not like you, Light. No one like you. I actually like him as a person."

"Well, I think that he's some easy flamer you picked up because you like me running through hallways after you."

"Ha. Only you would think that your attention was flattering."

"L, nothing has to change between us."

"Everything has. Are you saying that... what? We'll carry on as we were? How do you think your wife would feel about that? Maybe we could all move in together. Is she that understanding? You  _betrayed_  me," he hisses finally, his lips curling around the words.

"I didn't betray you, you know how this works. She doesn't have to know."

"I know how it's supposed to work. I said that I'd protect you. You could have changed so many things which are wrong in this world, but instead you just conform. Where's your courage? Did you lose it when you wrote your five year plan?"

"What exactly do you want? Do you just want me to kiss your shoes or something? I was honest with you from the start and I've never put a foot wrong. Now you're back and I'm willing to take you back, but you're leaving me for that fucking idiot?"

"Yes, for that fucking idiot who loves me, which is more than I could say for you. You're just a fucking idiot. I'm not saying that it's the love affair of the century, but then I suspect that yours isn't either. And if you try to hurt him just to get back at me, you vengeful cunt, I will out you. I don't even care anymore. We both know that you don't love that woman; she's just a convenient brood mare for you so you can look like a proper Prime Minister."

"I get it, ok? You're upset about Kiyomi. There's not much I can do about it. You'll just have to get used to it. I said the words, I wear the ring and it means nothing to me."

"Romance is not dead then. I  _was_  upset, yes, and that's putting it very mildly. You married Kiyomi, well done. Do you know how insulting that was? As if our situation wasn't complicated enough, throw in a wife, Light, yeah! What the hell were you thinking? I thought, no, he won't do it. No one does this sham marriage business anymore unless it's for immigration purposes. Who could live a lie in the spotlight for years? But then I was watching you doing something really ordinary once - I think you were ordering a coffee - and I was thinking how you're so perfect that it's kind of obscene. Then I realised that you were actually going to do it. You could do it if anyone could. I've never felt so stupid in my whole life and I hated you for that. I still do. You were already Prime Minister; you didn't need her. You could have broken it off, but no, not you. Nothing so easy and sensible. You're like all the others. Now, if it's alright, I think we're properly done here if we want to salvage some hope of having a professional relationship."

"You're going to stay right there," I tell him, and push him back against the wall. At that moment, a weak, scared little voice calls from behind the door.

"Hello -"

"Fuck off!"

"Why don't you open the door, Light?" L asks after my outburst. "Why don't we just broadcast this all over the Kantei? It's kind of stuffy in here anyway."

"I want you to be quiet. You're underestimating me. You don't know how far I'll go."

"No, I knew that you were an evil bastard the first time I saw you. You know that thing you do with your face when you're full of diabolical something or other? It doesn't work. You just look constipated."

"I don't do anything with my face! My face is fine."

"And don't you know it. Listen to me, I'll stay to help you. I just won't do what you want me to do because, oooh look! I have a brain of my own and it works independently from yours. Fancy that. Now, get out of my way." He turns his head away from me and he doesn't want to go, I can tell. He could never hide these things from me. I'm sure we're breathing the same; the same air, the same pounding thud of hearts racing. His voice is breathless but he's trying so hard to not want the same things that I do. "Get off me or I'll make you."

"You're not leaving me."

"I think I am. Have to say, you could have handled this better."

"You're right. I could have," I say and lean towards him in a way that's never failed me, never, but he pushes me away like he was anticipating it.

"Pfffffff. Don't try that with me. How stupid do you think I am? Will you let me go, please? Or do you have some other trick up your sleeve that you'd like to entertain me with?"

"I..." But I don't have anything. I've tried everything I can think of. Maybe he needs to be broken down over time, but I don't really have any time to spare; I'm always supposed to be somewhere. I close my eyes for a moment. "No. No, I'm out of tricks."

He looks sad then. Disappointed, even, and for my sake. After a few drawn out moments of that, I step back because I don't want his pity. He can go now if he wants to.

"Come here," he whispers, and pulls me back to him with his arms around my back and his chin resting on my shoulder like he used to. "You know I love you like you're a part of me. It's there now and it's for keeps. But feelings do change and they have for me. Don't make me hate you. Light, I think that I should leave. It was a bad idea me coming back here. We should sever my contract."

"No," I say and claw at his jacket over his shoulders.

"I know it didn't work out with Halle but we'll find someone who won't chase Mihael around the office. There must be  _someone_."

"I do need you. More than he does. How can he need you after two months? Was his life so empty before?"

"No, he just likes me a lot. You need me for work."

"Not for work."

"What do you need me for? A bounce? Frankly, we can both get that elsewhere and with no repercussions."

"I didn't mean that."

"What then? If we have any chance of being friends or working together, you have to promise me that this is the end of it now. Don't do it again. I can't fight you forever."

"I know you can't. I'm counting on it."

"No. I helped you and I liked you without all your show, but don't love me for it. I used you. It wasn't your fault, it's just what I do. I'm not a good person, Light. And I make you worse. You could be something special. You could also be the worst thing the world has ever seen. You're neither at the moment, but I'd rather see you be something good than something terrible."

"L, it's not over."

"Then we'll have to talk about ending my contract. Not now though, I'm spent. It's a good idea and if you don't stop it with all this, it might be the only option. Think about it."

* * *

He was right; I am shit at chasing. I've realised that the important factor in the art of chasing is that no one should notice you when you do it. And everyone notices me. I cannot move freely. People care about what I'm doing and they watch me. After thinking about and drawing up admittedly desperate courses of action - because I like to have back-up plans - I decide to start with the elevator. Yes, I always take the stairs and this elevator isn't even near my office, but my lunchtime is my free time; it's in my contract, and I can spend it in an elevator if I want to.

But it feels like, at each floor, another pleb walks in to assault me.

"Prime Minister, have you had a moment to read my bill proposal yet?" he asks. Brown shoes with a black suit. Urgh.

"Yes. I wanted to speak to you about that."

"Oh!"

"It's lacking in research and expert opinions, which is the only thing that lets it down."

"Oh."

"Leave it with me, I'll pass it onto my team and find some experts who are more appropriate and enthusiastic. That's what will sell it in the House. You need a bigger name behind it."

"I did try, Prime Minister," he slobbers, and I'm tired of looking at him now.

"I'm sure you did but there's only so much that you can do on your own."

"Well, thank you for your consideration! You support it then?"

"I don't really have enough spare time to indulge you if I didn't approve, at least in theory. We're not in prep school."

The doors open and L's standing there. He sees me, hesitates, but gets in anyway. Honestly, I think I might have gone up and down in this thing until he turned up, it's just lucky that I timed it right. He has lunch at half-twelve and he always takes this elevator. I don't know where he goes after that – I'll have to find out - but he comes back at half-one. I haven't seen or spoken to him in four days, mostly to let words sink into him. He's like me - he reviews things afterwards and tears them apart until there's nothing left but bones and answers. I hope that four days is enough. He stands opposite the open door until it closes and I don't look at him, I just take a short pause before I continue talking to the odd little man with the brown shoes.

"It depends on whether you can cut the budget for it, which should be easy enough to do since several areas you propose to change aren't necessary. Too much change at once is never a good idea."

"Which areas do you think are unnecessary?"

"It's not really something we can discuss here, is it. Call my office and schedule in a meeting tomorrow morning. I have twenty minutes free from nine-thirty. I'll email it to the Treasury and get a report back on budgeting advice tomorrow."

"Great! Than -"

"But you need a clear case and argument, and you're not very good at speaking, if you don't mind me saying so. Before you can present it, you need to work on that, otherwise it'll get nowhere, no matter how good a bill it is."

"Right. Erm..."

"If you ever feel like you're struggling, come and talk to me, Akuta. Is this your floor?"

"Yeah. Thanks again, Prime Minister."

After he walks out and the door closes, a tight breath I've been keeping rattles out of me as I lean against the wall to look at L, now we're trapped together. He speaks in a low, aggravated voice while he gazes into nothingness.

"You do realise that his bill is the biggest steaming turd. He ran it past me for legalities," he says.

"Yes, it is, but I need him out and with a demonstrated reason. Underneath that turd is the foundation of a genuinely worthwhile proposal which he found purely by accident and doesn't realise it. But he wouldn't sell it with the way he handles public speaking, since shaking, sweating and stuttering are not endearing qualities at this level. After this falls flat, I'll move him into Agriculture and recycle the bill in a few months."

"Don't tell me, the areas you want to cut from the bill are the aspects you think are worthwhile?"

"One thing I despise with the voting system is that we end up with talentless fools from one horse towns, and the horse happens to be their mother, which is why they get voted in. I'm left trying to find somewhere to put them where they can't do any harm."

"Shocking. I do so hate a democracy."

"Dior?" I ask after a pause, during which I strip him completely naked in my mind. His suit is exquisite.

"What?"

"Your suit."

"Oh. Yes."

"Looks like you did inherit my appreciation for quality tailoring after all."

"Not really. I found myself there and it was in the sale. I was practically harassed into it by a sales assistant. I only bought it to shut him up."

An almost completely round woman, not helped by peplums, walks into the lift on the next floor we stop at. Fuck's sake.

"Next floor, please," she says cheerfully to L, expecting him to be in charge of that sort of thing. "Can't handle the stairs right now with my ankles. Prime Minister, how are you today?"

"Very well, thank you. And you?"

"My youngest has a bad cold."

"I'm sorry to hear that. These things are going around at the moment."

"Absolutely. Awful. Yes," she bleats, nodding her head in an almost pathological way. And that's the end of that. We stand in silence then until the doors open again. "Oh, my floor already! Have a good day!"

The doors close.

"It's been tailored though," I say to L. Unless he's suddenly gone blind, he's talking to the door and not looking at me at all.

"What has?" he asks.

"Your suit."

"Actually, it hasn't. It's - oh, the horror - off the peg. I suppose you don't like it anymore now that you know that."

"My opinion still stands. It's an excellent suit. You could even say fuckable, if you wanted to be crude. Which I do."

"Should I leave you and the suit alone for a while? You seem to be hitting it off."

"No, you can stay. I meant you in the suit."

"Fuckable, eh? Little old me? What a coincidence, someone else told me that in the middle of the night."

"Some random boy?"

"Might have been. Have you thought further about severing my contract? I have ten minutes free now, if you want to. I doubt that it'll take that long."

"Can't say that I have thought about it. Have you put on weight?" I ask, and he lets out a short laugh.

"Well, that's not very polite. You need to work on your chat up lines, Prime Minister."

"You just don't look quite as thin as you used to. You look ... healthier. I'm not sure if I approve of it or not."

"I've taken up squash and have a random boy who's very handy in the kitchen. And elsewhere," he smiles suggestively at the door.

"It constantly amazes me what a slut you are."

"You're the one propositioning me in an elevator."

"Am I?"

"Yes, you are."

"Your self-inflated ego might burst if you don't let out some of that hot air you're so full of. I could have anyone, why would I bother with you?"

"Because I'm not interested and it drives you mad that you're not getting your own way for once."

"Are you trying to make me jealous of your succession of one night stands? They're meaningless dances in the dark with strangers and we've all been there. And I've been  _there,"_ I say, pointing briefly in his direction. _"_ Quite often. And for four years nearly."

"Don't remind me. That as it may be, this particular one night stand seems to have some mileage. Three months and counting,  _and_  in succession, unlike our four years, which was in fits and starts and benefitted from lengthy periods apart and moments of intense violence."

"Oh, that American. He's still around, is he?"

"Stephen. Italian American, actually. He's the best of both worlds and we never argue."

"How exhilarating that must be for you both. I wouldn't have thought that he was your sort at all."

"You mean, because he's sane? Yes, I suppose he is different from my usual. No offence."

"Hah. I was thinking that he would be better described as boring and barren of personality."

"He's nice," he tells me, actually making eye contact, like it's a warning that I'm stepping over a line.

"Same thing," I grin. "Would you mind if I take a closer look at you and your suit? Say, in my office in one hour?"

"I would mind, yes. I think I'd rather throw myself into a vat of boiling oil. If my suit wants to meet with you then I'll give it the afternoon off and send it over. Who am I to stand in the way of true love? Don't hold out too much hope though. Between you and me, my suit and I are very close, and I don't think it likes you."

"Playing hard to get never works with me, L. I always get what I want."

"I'm not playing, so tough shit."

"It's just a friendly request! You really must let me investigate. I've never seen such well-tailored trousers in my life. They must be lined," I say, brazenly staring at the central creases on his thighs. "What's the thread count of this thing? Is it a super 130? Is it fully-canvassed or half-canvassed? Horse hair or camel?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't want a camel anywhere near my suit. Is this of governmental importance or have you just had too much caffeine?"

"I don't know, but it looks very important from where I'm standing."

"Stand somewhere else then."

My consistent smile parts my lips when I take a few long steps towards him until we're only inches apart. Well, I can't really see his suit anymore, which is what he wanted.

"Like, here?" I ask. His panic is practically another person between us and he drops his briefcase, so this tactic must have been perfectly balanced and executed. I congratulate myself as I kneel down to pick it up to deliver the killing stroke.

"I'll get it," he says hurriedly.

"It's no problem," I say, smiling up at him in my most winning way. This is a tried and tested method and he out of everyone was a complete sucker for it, always. I grab the handle of his case with one hand and hold onto his leg with the other. For support, obviously. When I stand again, I can almost see the gleam in my eye reflected in his face. While he's apparently unable to move, I lean forward and breathe in over his neck, but I don't touch him until my face is so close to his that our noses barely glance and slide off each other. He sucks in air when I lick his cheek lightly with the tip of my tongue. He's dying inside. His poor eyes can't lie.

"You know, you really should be more careful," I tell him, and tilt my face slightly so my lips hovers over his in some worshipping adoration. He pants softly, swallows and his eyes grow heavy as he looks at me, but I won't do anything unless he gives me a sign.

An almost silent "Oh fuck" catches in his throat as he stares at me, and I drop his suitcase to the floor again. Hallelujah.

We launch at each other's mouths so aggressively that our teeth clash. His head hits the wall of the elevator, but I don't stop, I can't stop because all the rage I feel is in it. He's mine, no one else has a right to him but me. His mouth is hot as he kisses me back. I think he's angry too, but he's missed me. He makes a moan that sounds like a negative and he presses his hand against my shoulder to push me away, but I just drag his back away from the wall and slam him into it twice in quick succession. Just until the sound of injured, bending metal echoes in the shaft to drown out our own noises for a second and drown him into submission.

I hold one of his hands against the wall by the wrist while my other hand feels for the hold button beside me. The little box we're in judders to a stop, and I think that we're just suspended here, hanging in mid-air by a wire while I suck his tongue and he sighs in my mouth.

A voice speaks through the intercom asking if we're having problems. Oh, so many problems. I rasp out something about the button being stuck. Give us a few minutes, for fuck's sake, we're busy here. I don't say the last part. But while I speak, I see L's eyes thinly squinting and fluttering with lust in the shallow orbit which houses them, and his open mouth all plump and bruising already, so much that I have to attack it again. He makes a shocked noise and shudders and I think: 'I'm so sorry. No one's ever touched you like I do, ever. They were all too frightened of breaking you. You've been waiting for me your whole life.' Because God help them if they let him speak. You should never let him speak at a time like this. He's obedient when he's made to shut up, but only then. Now that his hand's in my hair, twisting it in his grip so it hurts as he clutches me closer. And now that he's culpable, I let his pinned hand go. He immediately grabs my arse with it, and I want to lift him onto my hips and feel his legs around me. There are so many things I want to do to him that I don't know where to start, but I can trust him now. I have him and we're pressed hard and smoothly moving against each other like we're wedged in an even smaller space. I'm actually concerned for his trousers for a second, because I don't think even that kind of expert tailoring is supposed to be put through this, but I shut that thought the hell out of my head. I love him I need him I want him I love the noises we're making.

Then, suddenly, he makes a groan full of pain and before I know what's happening, he's thrown me back so I hit the wall opposite. All the wind's knocked out of me, not that there was much in me to start with, so I catch my breath as I eye him from where I am now. He falls back, his hand near the hold button. It feels like we're moving down with gravity, but seeing him breathing heavily himself and wiping the corner of his lip with his thumb is just too much to consider that. We should never be apart.

"Lay it on me if it makes you feel any better," I say, walking back to him slowly. He doesn't stop me when I curve my arms around his back and kiss the salt from his throat. He actually tips his head upwards to expose more skin to me. "I'm so  _fucking_  angry, and I hate everyone but you."

The box shakes again to a stop and there's a hollow, clunking sound behind me. Like it was a alarm, he pushes past me and squeezes though the doors before they're fully open. Then sunlight floods this cavity. He's left his briefcase behind. I look at it lying on the floor by my foot. Someone walks in and I think that it might be him, but I look up at another face shining with good fortune.

"Prime Minister! I don't suppose that you've had a chance to look through my application for promotion, have you?"


	3. He Was More Like Me Than Me And I Couldn't Forget It

My speech goes down a storm. How do I do it. It's like they've never noticed that it was a possibility at all, although it was glaringly obvious to me. They just needed to be told. The opposition murmur about scaring away large scale employers from the country, but even they can't deny that ripping money from somewhere is always a popular move and something the government should do at least once every ten years. I want an immense and painless cash injection into the economy and I want to be progressive. It's what we all talk about during election campaigns but no one has ever seemed to manage it with any success. It's easier to conveniently forget about our promises. We're like someone who married a girl just to get into her house, only to throw her out and move her best friend in and she can't do anything because of a cleverly worded prenup.

My idea is not as staggering as they think. I'm lowering taxes. Well, Treasury is, but it's all my idea and I'm presenting well before the budget so everyone knows. How I'm doing this is not giving with one hand and taking from the other, as is usually the case; I'm going after big companies like an aggressive dog instead. Multinationals who exploit legal devices to minimise liability for corporation tax are going to pay instead. Before now, governments have been frightened to act because it's easier to tax the working man than piss off huge market shareholders, but we'll see. I can always backtrack. Businesses don't bear grudges where there's money to be made. I've been warned that they could emigrate and stop selling to consumers in my country if threatened with tax demands. I don't blame them for trying to pay as little as possible, but it's morally wrong. I've proposed to simplify the tax system - all companies must be transparent and publish their accounts and we must block all channeling tactics through low-tax countries. Behemoths have to contribute to the infrastructure like everyone else. They will not be happy. Everyone else will be. Once this is in the news, I imagine that I'll almost hear my popularity rocket through the roof. I deserve a fucking pay rise for this.

After the speech, politicians start to file out two by two like they're boarding the ark, and I soak the moment in like a sponge. I think that I looked up at this same ceiling once and saw something evil watching me. I thought that I did. But I can't imagine doing anything but winning here. It's like this place was built for me. As people leave, one man walks the other way, inside, not outside, and it's L. Of course it is. I smile as he walks towards me and he smiles at his feet, but it's not friendly. It's not wide smiles and open hearts. It's a 'I find this funny and I'm going to shoot you down in flames' smile. I stop myself from crossing my arms because it would look like I'm trying to protect myself from what's coming.

He walks so slowly that he looks lazy, and I get bored of waiting. It reminds me of when he was tired once, and I was leaving his house for the drive back to Tokyo. He followed me, haunting me in that same lazy way, and stopped next to me with his eyes closed like he was sleeping where he stood. The sky was pale blue and the sun just rising at five in the morning, and it was one of those weird, sickeningly perfect moments in nature. I opened the door and heard birdsong and a cool breeze cut through my clothes, but he still stood there in nothing but his skin like he didn't feel it, and I wanted to laugh. I kissed him at the door and I didn't know why. He opened his eyes and looked as surprised as me, and I thought maybe he'd know why and maybe he'd tell me. I wanted someone to tell me: 'That's what it is, Light. You're done for now.' But he just smiled and told me to call him. I felt weak for him and I have done since then. I was angry that he'd made me weak and I tried to kill it as I drove home, but I never felt whole again. I had other things to think about. I bought a suit and a new 58 inch 3D 5,500,000:1 native contrast ratio 'unmitigated success' of a TV with a response time of 0.001 milliseconds and I wanted him to die.

I didn't call him. He called me.

By the time he reaches me, there are only two other people left in the room and they're talking by the door. L will probably speak in the low voice which he always uses with me now, like he's permanently angry and wary of me, and I just want to let him know that I'm prepared.

"Give me your best shot," I tell him when he stops in front of my desk.

"I heard a rumour that you were going to pretend that you knew something about law and justice today," he says. "I thought that I'd come to hear it for myself."

"As we've discussed before, you're not the only one with a law degree," I scowl back at him and clip the metal claws of a binder shut with a snap before I put it into my briefcase.

"Yes, you learned the words and read the books and took the exams and you probably got a good mark, but you know nothing. Because to know about law, you have to know about life."

"So you're the sole dissenter? I had second and third opinions on this bill from lawyers and economists, and you don't think that I'm doing the right thing."

"Let's just say that I'm glad I came all this way to watch you. It amused me to see you looking so virtuous."

"What do you think of it?"

"I think that talk of morality is for the pious, not politicians. Didn't someone say that once? There is no morality in business."

"It's unethical."

"What, are you trying to confuse me with your thesaurus? There's no room for ethics, morality, justice or whatever other word you like in business  _or_  politics. You should know that by now."

"It is justice."

How dare he speak to me about justice and where it lives. I want his legs around my back and I'll keep killing him until he tells me that he's wrong, I'm right. I'm always right.

"Justice is not for people like you," he replies condescendingly. "You have no understanding and no mercy."

"And?"

"Oh, you mean, am I offended that you didn't ask for my advice on legislation? What do you think?"

"I think that we should go to bed or find a floor or a table or anything else that I can fuck you on."

His teeth graze over his bottom lip, interrupting his arrogance for a second. "You'd need my consent for that, wouldn't you?"

"I have your consent."

"Correction. You had my consent. Nice speech, Prime Minister. But it won't work," he sneers and walks away from me, back the way he came.

"Tax evasion or us?" I ask, but he doesn't stop.

"Both."

"Why won't you leave me alone?" I shout as my stomach churns. I hear the short echo of my question in the vaulted ceiling and my eyes immediately run to the two people talking by the door. They're looking at me, featureless. All I can see from here is blank expanses of face with no eyes, no nose, no mouth, but L doesn't stop walking and his voice is only slightly raised so I can hear him. I feel like I've been knocked down from a high place by just a few words and a dismissive glance.

"Is that really what you want? I could ask you the same thing."

* * *

Who knows how it happened, but I'm having a party. Everyone goes outside to wait like a flock of seagulls on a small rock for the fireworks to start, but it's not time yet. I can see them all from the window; slate grey and barely there like shadows of themselves being enveloped by the darkness.

L's staring at me with his bottle top eyes when I turn around, just how he looks when he's thinking and almost finding an answer. And I never know what his question is, I never know what his answer is. He just stares at me, holding a glass in the thin branches of his fingers. I walk past him and I just know that he'll follow me, I don't turn around to check. I leave the door to the bathroom open and see a dark suit and his perfect face and his perfect hair and I don't know why they're so perfect to me, they never used to be. His hands are already unzipping his trousers.

I push him against the sink and the speed of it takes me by surprise. It doesn't seem quite real as my face twists between his shoulder blades. It's the most soulless fuck I've ever experienced, but I do it, because it's him and I'll take what I'm given. He doesn't make a noise, all I hear is my own breaths stutter out of my mouth and I kiss his jacket to try and stop the desperate sound. To feel the weave of the fabric move under my lips as I push against him and disappear.

There's heat all over and I keep pressed against him even afterwards, looking at his hands gripping the sink until he stands straight again. I want to keep him there. I want to apologise. I want. Then he just moves away from me, not even pushing me aside - it's just like I'm not there - and I'm left with my face in the mirror. Within moments he's gone again and I feel like such a pathetic thing, like I've been used. How couldn't he even say a word? Why did he follow me? Why he let me touch him? I'm not even worth a word, it's like he felt that it was his duty. I think of all the times when he'd smile at me before one of us turned around, and I started to like it so much that I wanted to face him always. I wanted to see every nuance on his face like he said he wanted to see mine. Before then, I'd made the unspoken rule that we'd never look at each other. I liked the roughness of it and the perfunctory act which meant nothing. That changed, and I used to like seeing him look like he was in pain and the hair sticking to his forehead when he was completely destroyed. I'd leave him that way in the early hours; go home or stay in a spare room until morning when we were both upright and dressed and sexless. But then I stayed, and I knew that he watched me when I slept.

I leave eventually and try to find him again because we're not animals. I'm not a pity fuck. I don't know what I am. Kiyomi finds me while I'm peering into every room as I search for him. She tells me that I'm going to miss the fireworks. I don't give a shit about the fireworks but I have to be there, so I go with her. I forget my coat.

And I join the people and must be a shadow from the window now too, just like them. The first rocket screeches into the sky and explodes in streaks of coloured fire, and there are countless others. They light up the garden and for just seconds at a time we're all whole again until the fireworks scream and die when they see us. L is coloured green and misty with the smoke next to Stephen, far away from me. Lit up and laughing at something Stephen's said, or maybe laughing at me; plunged in and out of darkness and light. But I stare at him, even when I can't see him. And then he's kissing him like he means it. I don't understand.

* * *

I work and smile as if there is nothing alive and breathing here. I go back to Kiyomi and smile appreciatively at the work she's overseen in the house, and all the mobiles and the fucking Peter Rabbits on the wall which make me want to drag shit all over them. And days pass like that, with little stabs sometimes which only remind me of why they hurt and why this isn't perfect like it should be. And weeks pass like that and I don't see him, I don't hear from him. He should be the closest person to me. Kiyomi invited him and Stephen to dinner, and I don't mind if Stephen's there as long as L is. I'll be as nice as I can be, I don't care, I just want to be in the same room as him. But Stephen calls to decline apologetically. They're busy, apparently. Maybe another time.

Then L takes a week off work, which he never does. He's entitled to it but he's never done it, not since his father died, and that doesn't really count. After looking into it, there's no reason given for his absence. He's just taking a week off. I find out that he's changed his home address to some lakeside house in Hakone, and I'm sad because I liked his old house and now I'll never be inside it again. I can't stop thinking about him and what  _he's_  thinking and what he's doing and who with. All I want to do is to sleep and miss it, but I continue pulling myself around and I do everything right, everything perfect.

I realise that I've never felt lonely in my life. I didn't know what it was.

In me is a core of shaking anger and sadness. Part of me tries to rationalise, in some last ditch attempt of sanity, that I'm infatuated because I can't have him and it's only because of that. There's no other reason. I don't want him, I don't need him, I needed it to end. But I can blind myself to rationality easily. All there is is him and love and the lesser forms of it. I'm too good for this crippling feeling; a tightening heart when I'm unwanted. To be separated is painful, I want it to be shared. I don't think things through like I did, but I can't stop or change myself. I think that I'll do anything. I lie in bed and think of him with someone else while I'm with someone else. I take fire and quiet moments. I relive times and think of how I could have acted differently, should have acted differently, would act differently now. I'll take anything just to have him look at me. Maybe he's bored and I'm too late. I want this car crash but I never asked for it, and I think I'll never ever find myself again if I don't get him back. I'll never feel anything but loneliness ever again without a kind word. The only other thing I feel is anger. I will never be ignored.

Every memory and feeling I've ever had is pushed aside like a bodies lining my road. Maybe I am going mad.

But I heard a song today in the car while I was being taken to the House -  _If you love somebody, set them free_. Why though? The way I see it, if you love someone, they shouldn't leave. If they do, you're well within your rights to hunt them the fuck down.

The sky turns from blue to dark blue to black as I drive with nothing but wind rushing through the windows and the low rumble of the engine like it's driving itself. Keys are cold in my pocket.

His house is lit from the inside and it looks like an expensive bath house, hidden from the world. I want to rear-end the hatchback hire car which sits snugly next to L's car in the driveway and shunt it through the garden and into the fucking lake.

I can't see much, only feel and hear the crunch of the gravel under my feet as I walk towards the front door. As I get closer, there's some dull jazzy shit playing inside. I knock loudly, and there's some commotion as people call out to each other inside the house - one bored, one agitated. I have it in my head that if Stephen opens the door then I might just punch him and slam his head into the gravel until he's buried in it, but L opens the door. He's in a black sweater and black trousers. It's strange to see him not wearing some variation of a suit, and it occurs to me that I never have seen him wear anything else in all the years I've known him. A suit or nothing at all.

"Jesus, Light. Is that you?" he asks. No, it's Hansel and fucking Gretel.

"I need to speak with you."

"Did you actually drive out here?" Here is an example of how Stephen has had a detrimental effect on L. L is becoming blind to the obvious. He steps outside to peer into the darkness behind me, seeing the light reflecting off my car, and realises that perhaps I didn't swim here after all. "How do you know where I live?"

"Oh, excuse me for breathing. Is it a bad time? I'll wait then, shall I?"

"It's late. Hold on."

He grumbles and dips out of my sight for a moment before coming back with a coat. Seeing it reminds me that I don't have a coat and it's December and I'm spending my Friday night standing outside a thirty-eight-year-old man's house. Somewhere along the line, things went terribly wrong for me. He joins me, pulling the door so it's nearly shut behind him, and I realise that he expects me to stay outside his house. Coatless. This makes me surprisingly indignant.

"Why can't we talk inside?"

"Do you want me to get Stephen so he can listen to you too?"

"What are you doing with him?" I ask, equally indignantly and completely bewildered. The very mention of his name enrages me to the point of skipping the lines I had prepared in favour of ripping Stephen's throat out, but L either can't see my face in this darkness or just misreads me entirely. He sounds as dull as a blunt knife.

"We're about to have dinner," he says.

"No, what are you  _doing_  with him? Why are you with him? Why is he here?" My voice is louder than I would like, but I can't do anything about that at the moment. I'm very close to carving a new face into Stephen. His smile would stretch right around his head. L can't misread me now and stands straight against the door like he's a barrier and knows what I'm thinking.

"I thought that was fairly obvious," he tells me, and I look at the floor. "What do you want, Light? I'm on leave. Can't this wait until Monday? Phone me tomorrow if you really need to. It can't be that important."

"Firstly, I didn't authorise your leave so you're not officially on leave, you're absconding. I could have you sacked for desertion. Secondly, you've changed your number. I can't call you. You're my Head of PR. Didn't you think that I'd notice? And why are you wearing that sweater? You don't wear things like that. Do you think that you're in a Scandinavian crime series?"

And... I hate myself. All I wanted was to be angry but reasonable, but instead my tone becomes increasingly pathetic with every word until it's just pure hurt and sweater disappointment. Neither of us sound like ourselves. He sounds like he's been been taken over by someone who goes birdwatching in an anorak. I fully expect him to defend his clothing choice but my tone and possibly how I turn away from him to rub the tension from my neck seems to capture enough of his attention to make him bend down to try and see my face.

"What's happened?"

"I just need to speak with you."

"But we're about to have dinner," he repeats. "He's cooked it from raw things and I'm obliged to eat it.".

"I'm so sorry to interrupt your fucking domesticity. What is wrong with you? Have you gone soft or something?"

" _You're_  on my doorstep..." he says angrily, stopping suddenly, and I wonder if he remembers something from months ago which I was thinking about all the way here. "I mean, you've turned up with no warning, and I am on leave whether you authorised it or not."

"Please. I'm asking you."

He shakes his head and the light from the window bounces off his hair as he moves. "Oh, alright," he sighs, and goes back inside.

"I'm freezing out here," I point out when I realise that he's going to shut the door in my face. He sighs again and lets me into his office while he goes somewhere else. I gaze around the room for a minute, finding no personality; only excessive tidiness. Until this moment, it's all been selfishness, but now I realise that I have to save L. That man's going to bore him into an early grave if I don't save him. Stephen's one of those parasites that draw blood so slowly that you don't realise you're ill until it's too late. He'll start with cooking and cleaning, which all seems innocent enough, but the the next thing you know, he'll have made L into some spiritless drone just like everyone else. My L's not like everyone else. He talks too much and he's messy and moody and childish and he finds everything sad and funny at the same time and I won't let anyone change him. The idea of being a saviour steels me to retrace his steps and overhear a conversation outside what I think must be a kitchen.

"L, we're having dinner with your mother," Stephen says with his curling voice. They're speaking English, which isn't surprising, but I wish that I'd had more time to work further through my Rosetta course so I could understand them better. L thinks I understand English as well as a frog does, and I'm quite happy for him to carry on thinking that. I'm confused about L's mother being there and part of me wants to find her, just to see what she looks like. I'll just stare at her and walk away. With my eyes I'll tell her: 'I know about you.' Maybe she's in the house already? I'm about to go and find out, but L speaks coolly and makes me stay where I am.

"She'll understand."

"You can't just leave. What will she think?"

"She's made a lifetime's work of leaving people without notice or explanation so she will fucking well understand! She'll probably think that it's inherited," L shouts like a geyser erupting. I wish I could see him. I knew that he wasn't suited to all this niceness.

"At least she's trying. You're not," Stephen shouts back in reply. Oooh.

"Maybe she should have made an effort twenty years ago. I'll be back later," he says, having regained his monotony. He shocks me by stepping into view but he turns back around when Stephen snorts from the kitchen like a pig or an ugly horse, and he doesn't notice me standing a few feet away from him. "What? Do you think it's funny?" he asks, going back inside.

"You were all for this before, but then he turns up and now you don't want to be here, you want to be where he is." Ha. Yes.

"What are you saying?" When he doesn't get an immediate answer, L loses his temper which runs on the shortest fuse I know anyway. "Stephen!"

"What? Stop shouting."

"Oh, so you can hear me and you still have the power of speech?"

"Go, L," Stephen tells him. "I'll look after her. Maybe she won't notice that you've bailed on her."

"This is my job. I'm not 'bailing.'" Again, he doesn't get a reply. He always gets one from me. "Look, you arranged this, not me. I don't want anything to do with her. It's you who wants to play happy families."

"You said that you wanted to see her!"

"I said that because you wanted me to. I have to go. I've got a politician in my office."

"If you go, you'll be making a mistake."

"We all know that you've been blessed with the most excellent parents and upbringing like the fucking Waltons, Stephen. I know all about it. But mine was not like that, and it's not something to be resolved with a tiramisu, not matter how much amaretto you put in it."

"You know, you changed as soon as you answered the door," Stephen says, pauses and gasps. "Oh. I get it."

"Whatever you get, you're wrong."

"Him."

"Yes, once again you've found me out. The most reasonable conclusion is that I'm going to work to fuck the Prime Minister. That's my job. The law thing was all a ruse to cover up my profitable whoring abilities. No wonder you were in the CIA because your assumptions are mind blowing, Stephen. My mind is completely blown."

"It's true, isn't it? I'm right. But he's married. They're trying –"

"Christ's sake, wait there a minute. Light?" L shouts. I'm not sure what to do. I don't want to see Stephen unless he's undergoing some form of torture, and I don't want to be drawn into some weak argument and lie that L's come up with. Stephen's right. It is me. I'm the reason his landlord isn't acting as bland as he is. L appears around the doorway, so he obviously expects me to lie and do it well. "Light, come in here. Tell Stephen."

I reluctantly step into the doorway next to him. Stephen is near a kitchen table which has plates and a very tidy pile of vegetable peelings on it. He looks as stupid as always. Worse in fact. I can't be fooled by a nice face and I don't think his is particularly special anyway; it's just inoffensive. I'm tired of looking at him already and I'm sure that it shows.

"Tell him what?" I ask L.

"That's a very good question. No wonder you're the figurehead of the government," L says, looking to Stephen. "Well? Why don't you ask him? If you don't believe me, then ask him. Piss off the Prime Minister of Japan, go on. Why not? It's Friday."

Stephen doesn't ask me anything. He can barely look at me. He simply turns away and pulls some milk out of the fridge. "What should I say to your mother then?" he mutters moodily, and in English, which I think is very disrespectful.

"Tell her that I'm fucking the Prime Minister. It's what you think. It's ok, I'll tell her. She'll be so proud. Having affairs must be in the blood," L continues to rage at him with one arm wrapped tightly around himself and the other gesticulating with a glass of wine he's found. He swaps to Japanese for my benefit, but just for a moment. "Sorry, Light, but Stephen is being a dickhead. He's probably feeling homesick for his dickhead best friend, Krystal, WITH A K! God almighty! Who introduces themselves like that? Did she expect me to write her a cheque or something? I still can't  _believe_  that you paid for her ticket. I just... I cannot... Ugh. Was it so important that I knew that she couldn't spell? As if Crystal with a C isn't bad enough. We all know her name's Bob. Gender reassignment, a bad wig and nipple tassels don't make her Marilyn Monroe. Naming herself after Hugh Hefner's wine glass and not spelling it correctly, get to fuck. No, Stephen, for the record, I did not bloody like her!"

"Will you keep your voice down?" Stephen says, managing to make just as much noise when he slams a frying pan on the table. He glances at me, embarrassed, and I almost sympathise, but I grin weakly instead.

"I don't give a shit if my mother hears me and I doubt that Krystal with a K in fucking D fucking C can. Besides, I think that excuse is as good as any. I sleep with Prime Ministers, yeah! Why not, eh? I'm just spreading the word." Once L finishes, Stephen looks like he's about to bawl his eyes out while he spoons carrots into a dish. I can hardly stop myself from laughing, but then L decides that he is a soft touch after all. "Fuck's sake, don't look like that," he sighs. "Light, wait in the car," he tells me, and I move back outside to stand beside the door again. The interlude was worth it just to see the look on that cretin's face, but I'm not going to the car to let them do something terrible on the kitchen table when we're the ones who should be doing things like that. I should ban people called Stephen from being in this country.

"I have to get back to your mother," Stephen tells him. "She's on her own in there and... shit. The food's cold."

"She has Nat King Cole for company and, I don't know, nuke the carrots. Wait. Listen to me, listen," L says quietly. "There's nothing going on. Not what you think. And Krystal with a K wasn't all that bad after I'd had a few drinks."

"And what do I think, L?"

"Do you believe me?"

"No. But we'll talk about it later. By the way, you drink too much."

"I wouldn't lie to you. I'm done with lies," L reacts to the verbal shrugging off. So he'll lie to everyone else but he'll tell the truth to some sweet soul he met a few months ago? Yeah. When he appears a few seconds later and notices me as he pulls his coat from the rack again, my shoulders fall from the sight of him. I wonder why I'm fighting so hard for his attention and why I drove for an hour to see him when I could be reading about public spending. He's just something made of skin and bone and lies, and this is so below me. But my anger is gone in an instant, which is amazing, really. I follow him as he sweeps outside. He expects me to shut the door after us. I don't.

"I told you to wait in the car," he says with a face like thunder as he keeps walking.

"And freeze to death instead of catching that little performance?" I ask with a laugh, which makes him turn around.

"Actually, he has a point. He usually does. Why am I dropping everything for you?"

"Only you know that." I grip him arm and whisper in his ear. "You're with me now. If you go back inside then you'll just look weak and guilty. He hit the nail right on the head. It's up to you. Go back in and lie to him, if you like. I'll just wait here. I've got all weekend."

He considers what I've said and it appears to trouble him. I worry then that he might like the idea of seeing if I  _will_ wait outside for two days, because I don't have any camping equipment, but ultimately he decides to walk to my car. I look back towards the house and grin at all the little lights inside like it's a massive gingerbread house before getting in the car myself, starting the engine quickly.

"Ok, what? Do we have to go to the office for this?" he asks when I start reversing the car. Clearly he was hoping that this could be something we could sort out in the driveway.

"Don't you like fighting with little Stephen then?"

"No. But don't talk about him. What's so important?"

"Why is Mihael not talking to you?"

"God, I hope that's not what you wanted to talk about. He's very temperamental. Where are we going?"

"It's because of Stephen, isn't it?"

"No."

"He thinks you're with him for the wrong reasons."

"No. It's not that."

I'm speeding along the deserted road and practically at my destination within minutes of silence after that. We're not going in the direction of the main road to Tokyo and he knows it.

"There is no work, is there? There's nothing important you have to say," he says. Well.

"I have plenty to say to you."

"Turn the fuck around."

"Shut up, we're almost there."

"Where?"

"It's a surprise. You used to like surprises. You should close your eyes so it'll be better."

"I'm not a child and I don't like your surprises," he tells me. I turn off the road and drive along a path for a few seconds until a small house comes into view. "What is this?" he says as I draw up. A security light clicks on cue.

"It's a present, really," I say, switching of the engine. I get out of the car and rush around to the other side to open his door because he's making no effort to do so himself. "Come on."

I drag him, almost running, towards the house. It's nothing to look at compared to his, but it's meant as a retreat more than somewhere you'd live. 'Retreats' are very expensive. It looks better inside, so I wanted to gloss over the outside and show him what I've found. I shut the door behind him and turn on the lights to reveal the Le Corbusier-esue open interior, and he looks appropriately shocked, so much that he stops walking. "Lacking that spring in your step and that glint in your eye?" I ask, like a salesman. "Bored by boring people? Welcome to the Shag Pad Mark Two. Nobody even knows it's here. Scream as much as you like, no one, not even your mother, will hear you; only the koi carp will. I was promised koi carp but I don't know where they are."

"What?" L breathes. The acoustics in this place are fantastic considering all the floor to ceiling windows, and acoustics are important. I pull him after me, leaving him in the middle of the room while I go to the kitchen. I take out a block of cheese from the fridge to slice slithers of it off, placing them on my tongue like pieces of apple.

"I got a bank statement a week or so back and it turns out that I'm quite wealthy, so I thought that I'd get a little something," I explain through the cheese. "Look, look!" I point the knife towards the window, and when he realises what I'm pointing at, he doesn't look very impressed by the view we have of his house. He backs away from me and the window. Shock can do that to people.

"Do you think that we should get a telescope?" I ask. "Is your mother actually there? What does she look like? Didn't you say once that she was beautiful? Isn't that why your father married her? Didn't she win an award? Do you look like her? You don't look much like your dad. I suppose she's not beautiful now. Old." I nod to my own statement. I have too many questions and things to say to him – a year's worth – and suddenly I can't stop talking, even with my mouth full. He's staring at me now. "What?"

"This is disturbing," he says.

"This is fate. Who would have thought that the first place I saw would be so close to your house? I'm renting it but, I don't know, do you think I should buy it?" It was laughable really, it was so fucking perfect. Yet another example of fate dancing for me while dressed as coincidence.

"Do you know what this looks like?" he asks me. His eyes are clear and he can't be angry with me, can he? I chew on the buttery, grainy, melting mess for a few moments. I can't allow myself to speak with my mouth full. I can't even laugh like I want to until I've swallowed.

"Ha! Do you think that I'm stalking you? Do you think that I've kidnapped you? Do you like that idea? We could go with that if you want. I suppose I could tie you up." I absentmindedly look around for something which might serve, but I don't think a towel would work. "Do you want some cheese?"

"Can you stop waving that knife around?"

"This? I didn't realise. Wait, do you think I'm going to kill you with a cheese knife in a jealous rage? L, really?"

"You have to get rid of this place. You never rented it. I'll sort it out tomorrow," he says, agitated now that the shock has worn off. What did he think this was?

"Why? I thought that you'd be pleased."

He looks at me and blinks like he doesn't understand me, and I watch him as he sits on the bed in the middle of the room. He has no other option because there aren't any chairs. It's style over substance. The place would be too cluttered. All I want in here is him and a bed, and the bed isn't even necessary. I'm exhausted by luxury.

"Why should I be pleased? This place which is practically in my garden," he says loudly, pointing in the direction of his house. "What are you trying to do here?"

"It's five miles away. There's a pier down there. Did you know? It's too dark now but you'll be able to see it tomorrow morning. We could get a boat."

"Uh, no. I have to go home." He moves slowly like he's following advice on how to to back away when confronted with something unpleasant in the jungle.

"L, I got this place for you," I say, walking towards him quickly so he sits down again. He flinches slightly as I sit next to him, but I don't really notice. My phone starts ringing and I turn it off when I see the caller ID. Straight to voicemail you go.

He stares at the floor as he speaks, and though it's very nice cherry wood flooring, part of me thinks that he's considering retreating strategies.

"Shouldn't you get that?" he asks. I don't know why he sounds so nervous. It's not like he's as pure as snow.

"It's the mother-in-law. More commonly known as the lesser spotted interfering bitch. She shouldn't be around much longer," I tell him cheerfully. I do hope so. She has a tendency to overshare and upset Kiyomi every time she speaks to her. I am not to be trusted because I am a man and therefore biologically inferior. Misandry is alive and well and living in Mrs Takada.

"Is she ill?"

"She will be one day."

"It could be about Kiyomi."

"No, Kiyomi's ok. She's staying at her mother's to help her sister with something. I can't remember, but it's a charity thing and it doesn't matter. I said that I'm staying at a hotel after a meeting."

"This is wrong," he sighs.

" _You're_  wrong," I say and run my hand up his thigh. Hello again, thigh. "This is the way it was always meant to be right from the start. It solves all our problems."

"So you bought a house to solve non-existent problems? Forgive me, but your priorities are a bit fucked up, Light."

"It's rented, I told you. What's your problem?" I ask, and start taking off his ugly shoes because he forgot to when he came in. "Anyway, we need to talk about Stephen."

"Do we?"

"Well, yeah! Now, I understand that... well, I didn't expect you to become a monk."

"I'm so pleased that I have your permission."

"But cut it out now. I don't like it. You win. Get rid of him."

"You think it's about you?"

I laugh as I crawl onto him and start gnawing at his collar bone. I forgot how nice my voice sounds when I'm saying things against him. "Of course it's about me."

He pushes me away suddenly, holding his hand flat against my chest so I'm at a distance. You wouldn't think that he felt anything for me at all if you based it on how he's looking at me now, but he's just playing.

"You didn't come into it," he says, as if he means it. "I know it's hard for you to understand, but you're not the centre of the world. Mine or anyone else's. Wasn't I clear enough with you? All that's over between us. You have Kiyomi, I have Stephen, and I don't want to do this. Whatever it is you're thinking this is. Shag Pad Mark Two, Jesus Christ," he finishes, letting go of me to rub his forehead so I can take up where I left off with the exposed V of skin below his neck.

"You're lying. I can tell. We've known each other too long for lies to sound like truth. Just get rid of him tomorrow. I wouldn't mind so much, but you've let him make you into a boring old fuck. You need some life in you. I suppose that's my job."

"Light, I've been trying to finish this for years. I'm sorry to be blunt, but seriously, I knew that you were a nut years ago. Don't take offence."

"How can I not take offence? I'm not a nut! You're the nut."

"Ok then, take offence. Do we really need to go through this step by step? This whole thing here?" he says, moving his hand in a circle in front of me. "It's nuts. You did it, so you're a nut. But when you announced your candidacy, I thought that we had an understanding. When Kiyomi came back, you'd marry her and that was it. It's over. There's no future and there never was. Do I need to sing you a Roxette song?"

"You know that's all business. You said so yourself."

"No it isn't. Don't take any notice of what I said then. I was very, very stupid."

"I don't see why we can't carry on like we used to," I laugh in exasperation while he stares at me as though seeing something for the first time.

"Ok, Ok. I get it," he smiles bitterly, sitting up straight to pull his phone from his pocket. "I can give you the number of a very discreet and talented man in Shinjuku. Really, he's very good. You'd like him." And there's the standard recommendation of a prostitute he's probably pushed onto countless other politicians.

"Ha! Oh, please. Don't be funny," I say, taking the phone from his hands and tossing it aside. It makes a deep crack noise as it hits the floor. He looks at me with an outraged intensity before I try to kiss him, but holds me away again. This is getting tiring. He's a bucket of cold water in human form.

"God, this is never gong to end, is it?" he sighs.

"It's never going to end," I agree. The admission makes me half-close my eyes as I push my chest against his hand in the hope that his arm might break.

"You know what we had?" he asks me, suddenly furious. "Nothing. I tried with you, but you chose your career over me and that was it. I made a mistake again, didn't I? Why can't you grow up? I'm trying to do something right here. Why are you trying to stop me?"

"Shhhhh... Be quiet now or I'll have to make you. This is how it is," I tell him, placing my hands on his shoulders. "He's got to go. You don't need him anymore. He's served his purpose."

"No."

"Just do it, L. Get rid of him or I will"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Let's just say that he'd prefer an exit by your hands if he knew the alternative. Good try though. Good try. It worked, because look, I came back for you. One of us had to work something out and I did. I'm making time for you, like you said." My eyes feel heavy when I look at him and I lean forwards again instinctively, only for him to fling me onto my back. He kicks like a horse sometimes. "Oh, hello! You're not completely dead then," I laugh with him on top of me and his sharp elbows digging into me. "For a while there I thought that he'd bored you to death."

"You have no right to tell me to do anything, you arrogant little shit. I don't want you!" He shouts at me. I don't know, I'd believe him if I didn't know better, but I can't help but shout back at him anyway. The koi carp will just have to deal with it, wherever they are. I realise that I don't raise my voice with anyone apart from L, and the feeling is rare and precious and tempting to me.

"You can't switch things on and off like it didn't mean anything! You can't change, L. You're just like me."

"You're what I use to be. But I can change even if you can't."

"Oh, you and your shit bravado. Even though he's the scum of the earth, your Stephen was right about one thing: you could have told me to fuck right off, but you didn't. You dropped him and your mother and your tiramisu just for me. Don't tell me that you don't want me, it's the lie of the century."

"All I have left is some lingering respect for you and I'm losing that pretty quickly because dragging me here is just sad. You're sad and your suits can't hide it. I see you. Be happy for me, Light. I'm happy for you even though you're obviously not happy for yourself. You have a nice set up. Your wife is your clone with a vagina and you really couldn't do better for yourself than you have done. I don't know why I thought it was such a bad idea. Rejection is tough but please try to adjust to it and don't turn into some batshit Miss Havisham. Have you even seen Stephen? Why would I leave him for you? You're a politician, for Christ's sake. No one would choose you."

"I've seen him al –"

"No. Listen. I wanted you, I had you, and I don't want you anymore."

I can't breathe for a second and it's only when he starts moving away from me that I find that I still can move. I grab his sweater to pull him back and my hands hurt with the force of my knuckles locking and how my fingers dig into my palms through the wool, like he's the only thing stopping me from falling into a ravine.

"If you move, I will fucking kill you."

I'd love to do it. Since I met him, part of me has wanted nothing more than to kill him. I'd love to watch his eyes glaze over and be open forever, staring at me wherever I go. Maybe keep him in a glass case. Send him off to Damien Hirst to plop him in some formaldehyde. He laughs at me, and I place my hand just under his jaw. I could snap his head suddenly to one side and it would all be over. It's funny to simultaneously love and despise one person with the same magnitude of feeling.

"You'd never kill me, Light. I mean far too much to you," he says to me, the words like sandpaper because of the pressure of my hand around his throat. I sit up and draw myself closer, forcing him to sit on me like a lap dog. He gasps for breath under my hand. The feeling of having air denied to him brings some reluctant fear into his eyes, and it's beautiful how dark they get. I'll either speak to him, kiss him or kill him, and I'm not sure which to do first. Things should be done in that order, I guess. I should give him a chance. My voice is low, quiet, controlled and close to his mouth, and I think that anyone else but him would really start to worry.

"He's in my country and I don't want him here. Either you get rid of him or I will – it's up to you. It doesn't make any difference to me as long as I never see his face again. It's never over, L. I haven't said it's over. You are mine and you will do what I tell you to do, because you don't want to know what I'll do otherwise." I'm so strangely calm within my anger that I nearly forget who I'm speaking to. L's face like that, so close to mine, eases me into a nostalgic lull. I pull him closer, take my hand from his throat to wrap my arm around his back instead. "God, I've missed you. He must bore you to tears. Dinner with your mother, then what? Watch a film, play a game of snap and go to bed in a completely cold and sexless bed. Maybe you bought an electric blanket like people your age do. Isn't that what you told me once? A nice little bed already warmed up so you don't have to do it. My mistake. It's just sexless then. Never thought I'd see the day."

"You're not going to talk about him anymore," he tells me, and it's almost sweet, how brave he is. "You're not going to ruin this for me."

"Ruin what? Are you going to stick on a bobble hat and reenact  _Love Story_  with Preppy over there? He's disgusting. But it's done. Now shut up and lie the fuck down."

Without any warning – maybe I'm too slow and he's too quick – he punches me. My teeth crash together from the force of him hitting my jaw as I fall back against the bed, and he keeps punching me. It's just a constant volley which intensifies the pain. Every cell of me is alive and screaming 'make him stop, make him stop' but no. If anyone was going to kill me, I'd want it to be him. I think that this is it, he really is going to kill me, but because of some idiot. No, it's more than that. It's because I left him, it must be. He left me, and I didn't find him like I said I would. I lift my arm and my hand brushes against his, so I grip it while his other hand keeps slamming into my face, blacking out my view of him like a pulse of hot whiteness and blurry vision. I'm not going to stop him, it's something he has to do and I don't really mind. But then he stops as soon as I touch him, and for some reason the pain rushes to a new level, like it's an echo he was holding back. He could have broken something and he needs to play nice or not at all. Kill me or don't touch me. He's all flushed when I open my eyes, shocked at what he's done. I always knew that he was capable of this and more and I'm almost proud of him, but all I did was insult _Love Story_ and it was a bad film, anyway. My hand rubs my eye for a moment and my jaw feels stiff when I try to open and close it. He's just hit the same side of my face repeatedly and it feels swollen and angry already. This is going to look impressive in the morning. I think of Monday morning and how I might explain this. Some drunk person attacked me. No. I crashed my car. No, I'd have to crash my car then and that wouldn't look good in the press. I fell. Yes. I fell ten times against someone's fist. I fell.

L whispers my name like it's an apology but I can't let him speak. I don't want to hear him apologise, it would ruin the whole thing for me. I pull him towards me and kiss him hard so it hurts, sending a new wave of pain through me to make me shiver. He gives nothing in return at first like he  _is_  dead, but he gives in quickly like he always did. Reluctance, then aggression, then abandon - it's always the same but I never did get tired of it. He moves his face so his nose is pressing into my cheek and it feels cooling. I want him closer, so I make myself flush with his chest. With him pressing against me again, this year didn't happen. Nothing happened. I've never been lonely. It's all forgotten and remembered. I reach down and push my hand down his trousers and he's a lying bastard, I knew it. And he thought that he could lie to me. His mouth parts from mine and he can't breathe. It takes him a second to even breathe. I angle my head upwards to watch his eyes flutter and fight against closing as I squeeze harder. I love watching him, especially now that he has a thin streak of blood across his cheek, knowing that it's my blood. He's furious with himself. I stretch to place a kiss in the hollow under his chin to reward him for it.

"There. I knew it. Lie about that."

"That's biology," he breathes back in a jittery mess. I missed you, I missed you.

"No," I smile kindly, because he's still so funny. As my mouth arches, it makes my whole face ache. "He can't compete with that. No one can. All this time we've wasted. I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

He looks above us for answers again, but the answers aren't there, they're here. I think I will regret it. I regret meeting him in the first place but I can't change that now. I hate wasting my time and he reminds me of how boring and empty my life has become. I didn't notice.

I push his face to my throat and feel him kiss it. It runs through me, all those tingling nerve endings crying out for the little death while my fingers twine his hair between them. My head hurts like my heart hurts. I think about all he's said because I don't want to think about it later, when he's gone. If I think about it now then I'll edit it down to what I want to remember, and I think better when he's near me and can prove himself wrong. Then, maybe, I can think about something else again, something worthy, and give it the attention it deserves. I don't realise that I'm doing it, because I'm struggling to hold some sense in my brain to be guarded, but suddenly I'm saying what's in my head. There are too many thoughts in there and they're all about him. I'm not sure when that happened. He should know. I should tell him.

"I love you, you bastard, it's what you wanted. I told you then and you didn't believe me, but it doesn't matter now. Still, he's been around too long. Too long, L. You could get used to someone in that time."

"I am used to him, like you're used to Kiyomi. Maybe I love him," he mumbles against my throat between wet kisses.

"Don't make me laugh. You love him like I love tax returns. We're forever."

He draws back and lightly presses his hand to the side of my face, almost covering it like he doesn't want to see what he's done.

"I never agreed to that. I don't even like you," he says cruelly. I move his hand from my face and then trace the line of blood on his cheek with my thumb and smile at where I've marked him.

"Show me how much you don't like me."

And he does. He kisses me like it's a demand, and it's a victory for me, but I adjust to that. My head is full of Stephen now. Behind that curtain, he's in that house with all the lights on.

L rips at my tie and nearly strangles me, pops a couple buttons on my shirt and I nearly say something because I'm practically being beaten up by a man in a lambswool sweater. But then he's kissing my chest and a hot mouth feels nice there. I think my heart only beats a couple of times a day sometimes, but now it's like a maniac's who's high at a 80s revival. L's talking, rushing words out between panting breaths. But he's not. I am.

"Everyone but you disappoints me, always. And even  _you_  try to leave. I hate him, I hate his face. I hate that he's in your house and in your bed and that he feeds you and makes you do things you don't want to do. I hate that he thinks you're his. I hate that you're pretending to be so fucking happy with him. It's cruel really. To him. What does he do? Does he do this, or does he just bend over and sing 'As Time Goes By'?"

He looks up at me and some hair falls across his eye. I push it out of the way and I think that I'm smiling, but he shirks me away. He looks so angry, like he's someone who's about to go down a coal mine on a sacrificial rescue mission. "What am I doing?" he breathes and moves away from me, slipping his shoes on. "What  _is_  wrong with me?"

"Come back here."

"Light, I'm only going to say this once, and if you don't listen, I  _will_  kill you. If you do anything to him, I will kill you. And, unlike you, I don't mean metaphorically, I mean in a very real sense. Do not mention him."

"Ok," I say and reach out towards him. I believe him. I don't want to talk about Stephen anyway, not if he won't join in with my mockery. But he stands up and picks up his coat, putting it over one arm. "Where are you going? You cant walk back there in the dark for God's sake. I'll follow you, L, there's no point."

"If you follow me, I mean it, I'll tell everyone and I don't care what you do. I'm not doing this." He's nearly at the door and I grab the edge of the bed to pull myself up, but when I stand I only manage a few steps before I lose my balance and fall forwards like fucking Bambi. After putting my arms out in time to stop myself from falling entirely, I try to stand again, but I can't. I'm just some graceless, clumsy, staggering idiot skittering across the floor on all fours. Just shaking hands trying to drag myself towards him, and I start to panic because I can't do what I want to do. He's going to leave and go back to Stephen with my blood on his face and I can't stop him.

Instead of relief, I feel humiliated and low when his feet come into view in front of me.

"You can't drive," his emotionless voice tells me.

"I can. F...  _Fuck!_ " I shout, and it makes my head burn. I fucking well can though.

"No. But you'll kill yourself trying, won't you," he sighs and I look up at him with bleary eyes. "Look, this what we'll do. I'll stay, but none of this. I'll listen to you, that's it. I'll just sit here and if you act up then I'm going. I'll take your car and I'll call Matsuda. Do you understand? Light. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I hiss.

"Marvellous."

He bends to help me to my feet. I try to just hold him but he moves too quickly for me. All I can do is stare at the side of his face as he walks me backwards. The back of my knees hit the the bed and I fall back heavily into a seated position.

"How can you do this to me?" I ask, looking at his feet.

"I didn't do anything to you, Light. You did this to yourself."

"Uh, hello. Look at my face!" I say, looking up at him to show him the damage I can only imagine, but he doesn't look like he feel particularly responsible for it.

"I hit you, but you deserved it and I'm not sorry."

He turns and my mouth falls open in horror because I think he's going to leave again. After catching sight of himself in a mirror, he stops to stare at himself, walking closer to his reflection and rubbing his fingers furiously at the blood on his cheek like Lady Macbeth. Satisfied that it's gone, like his guilt, he goes to the kitchen and starts looking through the empty fridge.

"Jesus, all you have is fucking cheese!" he says. It was all I had the chance to buy before a crowd started hoarding around me, but, y'know, protein, calcium and it has a decent shelf life when properly refrigerated. Cheese is very versatile. Eventually L finds some ice, but he'll be disappointed when he finds that there's nothing to go with it. Strangely, he tips the ice into a towel. I smile when he walks back towards me, rolling the towel into a ball, and a racing heat spreads across the centre of my face and makes me wince.

"Here," he mumbles, offering the rolled up towel to me.

"What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Put it on your face, you idiot. You look like Mickey Rourke."

He loses patience because I'm so slow to comprehend what he's talking about, and presses the ice to the side of my face as he sits down next to me. I put my hand over his as he holds the ice there and lean towards him, but he's just straight and indifferent like a nurse who's seen it all before, has worked a very long shift, is bored and just wants a cup of tea. Somehow he's manoeuvred me onto the bed, lifting up my legs to lie flat on it like I'm an awkward patient. Some fallen soldier who just wants to get back into the thick of battle and kill some people.

"I don't understand you. What do you want from me?" I ask.

"Nothing. I just want to go back home and go to bed, but since you're like this, that's not going to happen. Give me your keys." I can't believe how serious he looks. He really doesn't want to be here and he never did.

"How do I know that you won't just leave?"

"You'll have to trust me," he says. Not that I do believe him, but I pull the keys out of my pocket, anyway.

I pat my hand on the space next to me, where I want him, in exchange for the keys and knowing that it must look like begging. I'm disgusted with myself but not quite enough. He rolls his eyes and his jaw is set like he really doesn't want to, but he sits next to me and pulls his legs onto the bed next to mine.

"Do one thing and I'm off, ok?" he tells me when I put my arm around his waist and rest the iced side of my face against his stomach. I follow the curving cables knitted into his sweater back and forth a few centimetres with my finger and they're a road that goes nowhere while air rasps in and out of my chest like I'm in some cold place and can't breathe properly.

"You're doing to me what David did to you. That's what this is, isn't it? You're getting your own back. Well done, L. Look what you did; I'm a mess. Well done. You got your own back."

"What are you talking about David for? This is nothing to do with him."

"I think sometimes that I know him, like I was with him once. I've given him a face. I think about him a lot."

"He's dead, Light. He had a brain haemorrhage two years ago. Someone told me when I was in London."

"He's dead?" My eyes sting suddenly but I blink it away and then it's gone. "Oh. Good. I'm glad he's dead."

"Don't say that. You have no reason to hate him. He had a family. I met his partner while I was there. They fostered shitloads of kids and he didn't even have life insurance. Stupid. He always was stupid. It's such a fucking shame. Why do the good ones always have to go?"

"Pffff... So, he's dead and you got over it so easily. I bet you weren't even sad. Full stop, new paragraph, right?"

"What?"

"Don't you remember anything you said to me? I remember everything. You got over him like you think I'll get over you, but I'm not like you, L, I won't get over it."

"You'll be ok."

"Don't tell me that I'll be ok, you bastard! I will not be fucking ok," I shout brokenly. I wouldn't let myself be ok, not now. I'd tear my own face off rather than give in. I make a decision and stick to it, and my decision is not to ever be ok until  _he_  gives in. My eyes hurt and my mouth feels like it's full of dirt. I think I spat on his sweater when I shouted and feel sick that I did that, but the disgust just adds to my outrage because I wouldn't be like this at all if it wasn't for him. "Are you telling me that Stephen is better than me? Because I can't believe that. You're angry with me, and I'm sorry, but I couldn't do anything. You could have gone with David when he asked you, you just didn't want to. That's what you said. I wanted to, I just couldn't. You fucked off and left me standing there all that time, and it wasn't something I could fix with a sad song and a bottle of vodka."

"You can't take any responsibility, can you? It's not my fault," he says tiredly. He should eat some cheese.

"What? How is it not your fault? You kept chipping away at me for years because you wanted me to be this way. Then you go, it's fine. Why did you come back?"

"For work."

"Liar. You came back for me."

"No."

"And because I didn't come running as soon as your plane touched down, you grabbed the first shithead who showed an interest."

"It wasn't like that at all," he says. I notice for the first time that he's wearing jeans. They're black denim and I'm guessing that they're expensive - I'd have to check if they're proper selvedge denim to say for sure - but they're still jeans and I don't like this fact. Fucking Stephen's put him in jeans so he's durable and they can fix cars and put shelves up together and have sex on abrasive surfaces without grazing his knees.

"Tell me, L. Tell me a nice story. How did you meet, really? Was he just easy? Because you never did have any patience. I was only asking you to wait a few years."

"A few years!" he laughs. "God, I've got to hear this. Really? What then?"

"I'll leave her."

"Ha."

"What do you want? Do you want me to resign? Because I... could, I suppose. I won't do anything, ever, but I'll have you. I don't know how long I could live with myself. Is that what you always wanted? Someone to give up everything they have just to prove something to you?"

I can't blink, I just stare ahead of me into the distance and not really seeing what's there. I could leave. I have money and maybe it's not too late. I have a lot of money which I officially don't have in offshore black holes of accounts. Kiyomi probably wouldn't mind. She has a name and she's popular and has money of her own. I'd be a joke but people would forget my name and my family would understand. They'd think that I was mad to leave what I have now for my lanky Head of PR who has bad social skills, but they'd understand. I wouldn't lose anything there. I wonder how much it would bother me if they didn't understand. I don't think that it would really. My life would be so much calmer. I probably wouldn't have to work again and I could take up making homemade soap to fill up my days or something. No, not really. But I'm so close to changing things and clearing the rot. Wouldn't it be selfish of me to walk away when I'm the only one who could do it? It would be.

"Do it, Light," L tells me, and in that instant, I would. "Do it, because I would put everything I own on the bet that you never would for any reason. If someone was holding a gun to my head and the only way you could stop them from killing me would be to resign, I'd be dead so fast I wouldn't know what happened. So, yeah, Light, resign and leave Kiyomi. Ruin your life entirely, but it would make no difference to me and you'd lose the only thing you really care about."

"I  _would_  do it. I just don't trust you."

"You shouldn't. I'm happy now and I'm not leaving Stephen for you, no matter what stupid decisions you make or don't make."

"I won't tell him. Keep him. I don't mind."

"That's good of you. But I'm telling him when I get back."

"No!" I shout again, and my face hurts again, unsurprisingly, so I dig it further into the ice to numb it. I realise then that I'm not ready for the reality of blasting everything open.

"Don't worry. He won't be interested in what you do, he's interested in what I do. I didn't tell him about us, I admit it. But he knows now anyway."

"How did he know?"

"He knows me."

"No he doesn't. I know you. I've tried. I've tried, but it's different and it shouldn't be. It's not my fault," Something about what I say or how I say it makes him stroke the back of my neck. "Why are you being like this again?" I ask him.

"Has something changed?"

"Well, I was under the impression that we had sex in the bathroom," I laugh bitterly.

"Recently?"

"The party, L. It wasn't long ago. Do you have early onset dementia?"

"Light, we didn't. What party?"

"Oh. Great. You want to play it that way? It didn't happen. It was off the books."

"No, I'm not saying that you didn't, but it wasn't with me," he says, and after a moment of blankness, it strikes true with me somewhere. But it would mean...

"But –"

"Don't think about it. You'll be ok in the morning and we'll forget about this whole thing. Just calm down and go to sleep." I feel his face press into the top of my head but he hesitates like he's remembered that he shouldn't kiss it.

"No, I didn't imagine it, I didn't."

"Maybe it was just stress," he tells me. That's the shittiest excuse I've ever heard. It's also a lie. It's the kind of verbal bromide he always throws up when sarcasm won't cut it. In his head, he's backing the hell away from me and calling the psych ward, I know it.

"No, I was there and you were there and... God, I am going mad, aren't I?"

"You're not going mad."

"I am mad," I say, not even believing that much because I just can't. I woke up and I thought it had really happened. I don't know what to believe, but I know that it didn't happen. "It's like when I see things that aren't there. When I saw the devil and he was laughing at me."

He's quiet for a moment. It takes that long to sink in. I am a fucking nut.

"Ok," he says slowly. "You're going mad. When did you see the devil?"

"Twice. With you. It's  _you_! You making me mad!" Yes, it's his fault! I was fine before he turned up. You could have set a clock by me.

"What did he look like? The devil, I mean," he asks, rubbing my arm like he understands and this is all perfectly normal and he knows all about it.

"Don't play with me, you know it wasn't real, I'm just insane! Don't play along to make me shut up, I know it wasn't real!"

"Alright, calm down. You're not mad. I see things all the time."

"Like what?"

"Like... sometimes I'm positive that I've got another chocolate mint but it turns out that I've already eaten it."

"That's not the fucking same!"

"It could be. I just really like chocolate mints. My life revolves around them and they're very important to me. Imagine my devastation when that happens. And, you know, I hear things. Between us we'd make a really good psychic."

I laugh but it sounds thick with saliva. "I'm glad it wasn't real. It wasn't like you at all and it was really,  _really_  shit. Premature ejaculation and everything, and I don't think that you felt anything at all. You might as well have been washing dishes or something. And then you left, so I went to find you and you were eating Stephen's face."

"Hey, I never eat his face and rule number one is that you're not to mention him. Stick to the fucking rules or I'm going. Oh God, your nose."

"Is it broken?" I ask as I pinch it tentatively. I don't think so, it's just split on the bridge. It happens to us all. "So that's what it was then. You weren't with me."

" _Is_  it broken?"

"My nose? No, I don't think so."

"Good. Go to sleep now."

"No," I say and shake my head stupidly as I grip him tighter. He's smiling as he speaks, I can tell without looking at him because it always shows through his voice.

"Light, you never could stay awake and you definitely won't with your head the way it is."

"You'll leave."

"I won't."

"Promise."

"Pinky swear," he says, crooking his finger and laughing. I just take his hand. I have no choice but to trust him. It's silent for a few minutes, and I can almost hear the lake outside and the wind pushing through the trees. Nothing is ever truly silent. When I speak again I'm so quiet that it's like I'm frightened of ruining something. I don't realise that I'm talking at first and there's barely anything behind it, just words carried on short breaths. I'm just a listener too and I am tired. I sleep for four hours a night and now I'm going mad.

"I fucked up, L. You have to let me back in. If I knew that it was the only way, then I'd do it. I'd get rid of everyone. But what if you didn't come back? What if you do want to destroy me? It would have all been for nothing."

"I don't want to destroy you. But I'll tell you now, Light: anything you did wouldn't make me change my mind. Just carry on the way you are. You're important now, and you'll find someone else. But when you do, you  _should_  leave everything for them."

"But there is no one else."

* * *

The next thing I know is the clean scent of cotton and an uncomfortable, tight pressure against my face. There's a low rumble of car engines outside and I open my eyes immediately, drag myself up and stumble towards the door. The grey daylight hits me and I blink to clear my vision like it's an overexposed photograph. What a massive prick he is.

Stephen is just closing my car door in the driveway. He sees me and approaches with his head hanging as he turns something over in his hands. He stops below the step in front of me and my hand tightens around the edge of the door.

"I'm just bringing your car back," he tells me, holding out my keys. His voice is cold.

 _He's_  bringing it back? I peer around him to see someone in L's car a little way away. He has the engine running. He couldn't even see me himself – he got Stephen to do it. I can imagine the conversation. Stephen saying: 'You wait in the car.' I can just see L's headless white shirt as the rest blurs into the dark interior. Stephen is still holding the keys when I look back at him.

"Arnica," he says.

"What?" I snap at him. My face aches as it twists.

"Arnica. For your face. Helps with bruises. Don't put it on the cut though," he says in his dull voice. He drops the keys at my feet and walks to L's car and gets in the passenger seat. The light comes on inside and I can see L's hand move on the steering wheel and the outline of his head behind Stephen's as he turns the car. There's the sad sound of gravel crushing against each other, then he's gone.


	4. Make The Yuletide Gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I COULD NOT RESIST THE CHAPTER TITLE I'M SO SORRY!

Kiyomi has organised a Christmas party. For a time, I think that she's invited everyone we don't know instead of people we do know, until her mother turns up looking like a well-roasted parsnip. Then my family turn up, but I have to stand at the door bowing until my back aches and my face aches and I can't take any more and Kiyomi wants to sit down. It turns into more of an open door party with armed guards outside, an non-invasive body search (otherwise no one would get in) and no welcome.

Kiyomi's invited Stephen because Stephen is Kiyomi's friend, he's not mine. He did bring L though, so that's something, but he's wearing a navy suit. I despise him in that suit and he knows it, so I think that I can understand his thought process there. The least he could have done was to drag out the Dior for me, but no. He's clearly not sorry even though I was more than willing to forgive the fact that he beat me up, lied and stole my car a few weeks ago. I found out his new phone number after a lot of digging, and he wouldn't answer me. I stopped trying in the end.

They've brought another man with them and he and L look almost connected at the hip as they mutter silently to each other while wearing the same uninterested expression. At first, I think that the man must be his brother (because they look similar in a wildly unfair genetic way in which L got all the good stuff and bled the pool dry, leaving little for any siblings to work with), but I don't think that L would be anywhere near either of his brothers if he could help it. I remember him saying that they accounted for eighty-six percent of the reasons why he decided to emigrate. I decide then that he must have picked up another one-nighter just to flaunt his promiscuity in my face by making himself some Daddy Warbucks for strays and make me feel that I am literally the last person he would have anything to do with. They stay close while L talks to Kiyomi some way away and introduces the stranger, but he ignores me.

Then Kiyomi notices Naomi, Naomi notices Kiyomi and they run towards each other like a gold rush in almost matching dresses. No one asks where Jeevas is because no one cares. They make excited noises and hug repeatedly and I watch L take his coat off. He never did give me my coat back. Or my shirt. I imagine that they're in a charity shop in London. The coat's probably shrunken, creased and felted from a washing machine, and is being sold as a child's blanket.

"It's so nice to see you!" Kiyomi and Naomi shriek at the same time.

"Have you been Christmas shopping?" Kiyomi asks, calming down abruptly. She's probably seen Naomi placing the bags of presents by the door as she came in. At least one of those presents will be for her, and Kiyomi loves presents. Naomi is also renowned for her generosity.

"Yeah!"

"OOOOOH!" they both scream again.

"Fucking hell," L sighs, taking his phone out of his pocket. Stephen catches my attention when he smiles (because his smile is alarming) and observes my wife and Naomi bob up and down on their heels. His hair, the same colour as L's, droops. The man needs a haircut and a personality transplant. My mother walks behind me and rubs a quick circle into my back as she passes by because she doesn't want to interrupt a generational conference. Yes, I'm very lonely here. She knows.

"Stephen and L took me shopping with them the other day," Naomi tells Kiyomi. "I had to get Matt some game thing with controls and a steering wheel. Did you know that they charge for gift wrapping now?" She notices Stephen and L and whoever it is they've brought with them and screams: "Stephen!" in a shrill voice. Stephen continues to smile, because he hasn't stopped since he got here, and takes her into a hug normally seen between footballers when one of them scores a goal.

"Darling!" she says to L, attempting to do the same to him, but he stops her, putting up an invisible force field of antipathy.

"Naomi, all that might work on Stephen but it's wasted on me. I have no vacancy for a female to adopt so we can go shopping and discuss vajazzles. Thank you."

That's it. I'm talking to L and I don't care who's with him. He's everyone's friend but mine now and it's not fucking fair. He should apologise to me and he probably wants to. I should give him the opportunity and be gracious and show him that he didn't do any lasting damage to my face.

I'm making my way over to him when Stephen tries to talk to me instead. He's oddly pleasant considering the last time we met, and I swiftly come to the conclusion that L hasn't told him that he loves me and that we're just going through a rough patch which involves impacting my face with his fist. A huge lie has been told and Stephen has taken it hook, line and sinker. He tells me that he's recently resigned from the CIA and he doesn't have to tell me why. He encourages L to join in by holding his wrist and pulling him over gently, even though he can't honestly think that anyone else  _but_  L was responsible for the pummeling my face suffered that night. I think to myself as his mouth opens and slaps shut when he talks: 'You really do have the learning ability of a gamete, don't you?' To me, it's perfectly obvious that L and I aren't talking and why we're not talking, but it can't be as obvious to other people. Stephen keeps asking L's opinion in an equally gentle, vague way. A way which allows L to look at the ceiling instead of answering without appearing too rude. I reply with one word, cold answers to every question Stephen has, and at long last the small talk is over as Kiyomi grabs him to show him her shoes. L and his friend stand in silence, looking as entertained as you would expect to be in a matchstick museum.

"I've never seen you looking so bored," I say to L. His brow furrows from my tenacity to even dare to speak to him when I wouldn't have been surprised if he cried and dropped to his knees to kiss the hem of my jacket. I smile, and his frown evens out into something like awe. He's still in love with my face, that much is clear. He made a mess of it but white blood cells will out. I give him a view of my profile and, lo and behold, he speaks.

"I haven't  _been_  this bored since you turned up drunk and preached to me about the flaws of the dairy industry," he replies. At this point I want to resume our last conversation at the moment when he was kissing me and my hand was down his trousers before I started shouting hysterically, but Stephen returns and I have no idea what he's trying to do to L's back.

"How are you enjoying your time off?" Stephen asks me. Bland, bland, bland.

"How are you enjoying being unemployed?"

"Hey," L grunts out in warning. I think he might launch at me and I'd like that very much. I think that I'd enjoy that a bit too much, but he doesn't do it in any case. I shrug, because we're in the Kantei and surrounded by people.

"It's a valid question."

"I have some savings," Stephen explains, like I care. "It's just like an extended... word?" he ponders and looks to L while clicking his fingers.

"Penis?" L suggests.

"No. Vacation. That's it. It went right out of my head because of all this crazy spending and lights and, Jesus, look at that!" he says, pointing towards the Kantei Christmas tree which looms over us all. I'm really not sure how he hasn't noticed it before, so I'm now absolutely convinced that he's simple. L turns to his friend briefly to try and explain in the most slow, snaky, carnal, privileged, upper-class sounding English he can manage, why Stephen likes Christmas trees. He eyes up his idiot as he speaks, and I want to punch him in the bollocks.

"He's American. He has vacations. He's also a consumerist and buys into all this shit."

Stephen seems to appreciate this reasonably offensive statement, or at least likes the way in which it was delivered, and squares up to my L like he's in a Lynx deodorant advert. He more or less growls at him and then they 'mmmm' at each other and rub miscellaneous body parts together and WHY DON'T THEY JUST HAVE SEX RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF MY FOYER? It's the most repulsive thing I've ever seen. Even L's friend looks sickened. Either they have to stop or I'm going to get slaughtered on overpriced alcohol.

"Oh God. Kiyomi, where's that bottle of cognac?" I call out in desperation. She walks over, observing the horror in front of me and rubs my chest with her manicured hand, which is no consolation.

"Light's allergic to public displays of affection," she explains. I'm waiting for the 'and he has a headache' but surprisingly it doesn't come.

"He's just allergic to affection," L mumbles and smiles into Stephen's face.

"Kiyomi, let's see your nails," Naomi says, turning up out of nowhere. She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and tells me how smart I look, which is what my mother said to me on my first day at school. I wasn't going for smart. I was going for debonair, elegant, suave and 'do me'. Like James Bond with more sex appeal. This suit is obviously a complete failure.

"Oh! There are little Christmas things on them, look!" Kiyomi cries at the cuteness of her manicure as she shows it to Naomi. I am quietly mortified at her seasonality. "I thought it was a bit immature but it's been in all the papers."

"Awwwwww!"

"That's really pretty," Stephen says, pointing at Kiyomi's thumb. I bet he has every album Judy Garland ever recorded. "Is that Santa Claus going down a chimney?"

"Christ. I feel death is near. Did you say cognac or does that mean something else in Japanese?" the un-introduced friend of L asks me, in English. He looks slightly mad and windblown. Part of me wants to shout: 'Stranger danger!' and have him forcibly ejected.

"Cognac after coffee," Kiyomi advises us all, again, in English. Apart from Naomi, I am now the only person who doesn't speak English with any degree of certainty because my school was apparently shit. "Light, you have to go away now. I want to tell Naomi about your present. Wait by the door."

"I can't wait by the door, Kiyomi, I'm the Prime fucking Minister. People will think it's a meet and greet."

"It  _is_  a meet and greet. Greet some more people."

"No."

"Ok, we'll have to go then. Stay with Lawliet and Stephen," she says, walking away with Naomi.

"I'll wait by the door," I grumble.

"Fine by us. Bah! Humbug!" L says. I'm going to stay with Lawliet and Stephen. They don't seem to care either way and I'm not even a third wheel so much as a flat tyre in the boot of the car. Stephen shouts: "Shirts!" suddenly and L steps away from him. I think that's a good enough reason to call in the guards and have Stephen shot.

"Shirts?" L repeats after him.

"I'll get shirts for my dad."

"That's not very inventive. You've missed the last post anyway. You might as well just get him book vouchers if you're being that exciting. Get him... a planisphere. Dads like planispheres."

"You're so good at this!"

"I was a personal shopper in a past life. Are you still here, Prime Minister?" L asks me. "Well, since you are, here's your present. And here's Kiyomi's. Have a Happy Christmas, if you can."

"Yours is in my office," I say, stunned into a quiet voice as he dumps two shop-assistant-wrapped small boxes in my hands. Jewellery, I think. Jewellery for Kiyomi and a suicide pill presentation case for me.

"We really weren't expecting one, were we, Stephen," he confesses blithely. Stephen is equally blithe. Stephen hasn't got a present from me so he'd be right not to expect one.

"Thanks, Prime Minister," he grins. God. Not long ago he was semi-intelligent and figured out that L is very familiar with my arse, but he seems to have forgotten that. "You and Kiyomi should come over sometime. I'll make dinner."

"He's too busy for that," L tells him.

"Nobody's too busy for my beef bourguignon."

I feel that I have to remind L that he doesn't like beef bourguignon. He always orders it but he never eats it. To be honest, I think that he only orders main courses to be social and to look well-bred.

"You don't like beef bourguignon."

"I've changed my mind. The boy does a good bourguignon, what can I say?"

"Frank Sinatra!" Stephen shouts randomly. I think he's malfunctioning.

"Pardon?" L asks.

"The song," he explains, pointing at the ceiling like that's where Frank Sinatra is.

"Oh. Yes."

"It's my parents' favourite song. How about that being played. It's not even a Christmas song."

"Bizarre. Stephen?"

"Yeah?"

"You need to calm down. Just a  _little_  bit."

"Are you kidding? It's –"

"What's my present?" I ask L to interrupt the madness. He looks at me with the majestic superiority of a peacock but he can't compete with my posture.

"You can open it now if you want" he says gruffly. "It's nothing special."

"No! He can't open it now!" Stephen gasps.

"How old are you again?" L asks him. "I thought you told me that you were thirty-four but you sound about twelve. Am I going to be sued for the rape of a minor by your parents one day?" He turns back to me and his gruffness. "They're cufflinks, Prime Minister," he tells me, and Stephen breathes out a massive sigh.

"Jesus, L. You've ruined it now."

"I'm sorry for ruining your Christmas, Prime Minister."

"That's... really thoughtful," I say, looking at the unwrapped box.

"It isn't. I love ruining Christmas. I just thought: 'What do you buy a Prime Minister?' And then I thought, 'Oh. Cufflinks.' Easy. You like useless things like that."

"Yeah. I do like useless things like that, don't I."

"God, don't get depressed."

"You shouldn't have told him," Stephen whispers.

"Well I didn't think that he'd go all Sylvia Plath."

"I'm not depressed. I was just thinking. Thanks," I dip my head as I put the boxes in my pocket. L takes up looking at the gaudy Christmas tree while he talks.

"But they have a twist. I almost kept them myself."

"Why?"

"You'll see. Stephen, find B. Don't let him play with his hypodermic again. Oh, B!" he says happily and waves. That weird man is B? In my house?! L's only friend and a completely mad bastard! I didn't even notice that he'd left but he seems to have found and opened the cognac.

"What the very fuck are all these people doing here?" he asks L, in English, once again. I suppose that I should get used to this. I'm just glad that I can understand it better now even if I can't wrap my tongue around it perfectly, and I'm not speaking until I can pronounce things properly.

"I told you it was a bad idea," L mumbles to Stephen reproachfully.

"It's a party!" Stephen smiles at B. I think he's scared of him judging by the way he stands slightly behind L.

"But why have you brought me here?"

"Because I can't leave you alone, you gorgeous deviant," L tells him. What on earth is this?

"I fucking hate people," he informs us all. He then points at Stephen, whose eyes widen at the direct confrontation. "You! Why would you do this to me? We've only just met! You're jealous of me, aren't you? All jealousy has roots in the concept of sexual intimidation and betrayal, so -"

"Drink your cognac, B," L says. "And have a ritalin."

"What the... Fuck! There are  _small_  people here!" He's right. There's a child here and that's not what Kiyomi and I discussed. There are very expensive things just asking to be knocked over by a manic five-year-old at nine o'clock at night. B presses a hand to each side of his face and does a fine impression of Munch's  _The Scream_. "Get rid of it!"

"Stephen, do something," L demands.

"Like what?"

"Lock it in a cupboard and get me a drink. Please," he adds as an afterthought. "Thank you love you bye."

Stephen wanders off like a servant, which makes this situation much more bearable, despite being ignored. I realise that I'm just standing there watching people talk without being included in any way, so I turn around so I can still listen without looking quite as desperate. I now look haughty, I hope, if anything.

"It's ok. I have some valium in my pocket," B says. "What do you think of  _him_?"

"Who?" L asks.

"Him."

"Ok, I suppose. If you like that sort of thing."

"He's  _your_  sort of thing. Isn't his name Light?" he whispers mischievously. I'll pretend that I didn't hear.

"Elephants never forget and neither do you."

"Don't tell me that you're still angry with him for leaving you for his missus and as a result you've developed a one-sided relational dependency. Are you having unrealistic fantasies about your relationship and experiencing obsessive, controlling behaviours? This overwhelming desire to possess him shows an inability to accept failure or rejection and requires psychiatric help before you go into stage three. Desire can never be satisfied, that is a fact. It can only strive, mutate and multiply. Would you say that you have tunnel vision and that you can't stop thinking about him, requiring his constant attention? This would all explain your extreme control tactics over the years, including questioning his commitment with the goal of manipulating him into providing more attention. Do you recognise that your anger, rage and desire to seek revenge against him for breaking off the relationship is due to your destructive behaviours manifesting, and have you noticed that you might be using drugs, alcohol, food and sex in an attempt to heal your emotional pain?"

"Erm. No," L replies. I'm not entirely sure I caught any of that. I've never heard anyone speak so quickly without taking a breath in my life.

"Oh. But you are upset that he dumped you."

"Au contraire, my friend. He did not dump me," L laughs smugly. "You haven't heard the latest."

"L, Stephen's -"

"I know he's a really nice guy and loves me what a keeper I'm so lucky can't believe my luck one in a million yeah."

"As long as you know. Now tell Doctor B  _all_  about it."

"He's gone all stalker town on me."

"Really?"

"Yes. Your diagnosis was right, Doctor."

"Well, I did tell you. Malignant narcissism is a very difficult condition but it's pretty hot. I mean that they're like Scorpios, not that I believe in that shit, but blind egotism is... _damn_ , it's so attractive. It's one of my favourites, actually. Erich Fromm described it as the quintessence of evil and –"

"How did I know that you'd be right for the first time in your career?" L interrupts him. I'm losing the thread entirely but I still think they're talking about me. "I'm sure you've noticed that he  _is_  very attractive and has the charisma of the hypothetical son of a young Marlon Brando and James Dean in wet leather,  _but_  Japanese, which only helps matters. I didn't pick him for any old reason. I just felt like I was constantly pinned to a bed whenever he spoke to me. I found myself able to overlook a lot of psychotic episodes because of it."

"Sex is traumatic. For you it's become an obsession and you should seek treatment. I'll write you a note and you can come and stay with me and we'll go to Disneyland Paris on a rainy day. I think a spin in the teacups would help you. What kind of psychotic –"

"Oh, I fully endorsed them, don't worry. But now, while entertaining, it's annoying."

"And he's Prime Minister?"

"He is indeed. Sometimes I look at him and think: 'I did that. Fuck me, I'm good.' Most of the time though I look at him and want to throw something at him and get a restraining order. He's proven to be very disappointing. He's planning to rejig the justice system without me knowing, even though he knows nothing about it apart from what he's read in  _Law for Dummies_. Going right over my head with it, the bastard. Didn't even ask my opinion. He's doing that a lot lately. You should hear about this tax shit he's –"

"No, no, no taxes. I hate taxes. Hmmm... Baby boy, distract me with something pretty. I want to talk to the pretty."

"Pretty? Oh! Prime Minister?" L says loudly, in Japanese, and I think that I can turn around at this point as long as I can control the way my face is itching to collapse in on itself. "This is my friend, B. He's on a flying visit on his way to Sydney. You don't have to say anything; just stand there, he'll be fine. I have to dispose of a child. Distract him."

I don't particularly want to be left alone with someone who looks like he's escaped from Death Row and keeps pharmaceuticals in tubes of Smarties. He peers right into my eyes and is invading my personal space to a worrying degree. I call for L, but thankfully he hasn't gone very far. He asks Stephen if he's 'disposed of the child' as they walk back together.

"I don't know who she belongs to," Stephen tells him, but L doesn't see the problem there.

"Just throw it on the fire then."

"So you're Light?" B asks me in English, not even a pen's length away from my face. His jaw hangs open after he speaks, and if someone told me that he was an android, I wouldn't be in the least surprised. "It's ok, I understand everything now."

"I did tell you. The Prime Minister has heard a lot about you and your theories," L says, propping his head on B's shoulder to peer at me also. B's face is an almost perfect heart shape due to a probably unintentional centre-parting in his hair. I have so much sympathy for animals at the circus now. B's back arches with L behind him, like a cat being ineffectually fucked, and I'm very frightened, I admit. That cannot and will not show.

"Pleased to meet you, B," I say cheerfully, offering my hand out to him. He doesn't take it.

"Prime Minister."

"Call me Light, please."

"He told you to call him by his first name. That's first base, I know that from experience. He's working on you, B," L whispers to him. "Where's Kiyomi?" he then says loudly, looking around the room.

"Kiyomi's the wife, right?" B asks him, turning his face slightly toward's L's while continuing to stare at me. L pats him on the head.

"Gold star for you."

"So, Light. Can you improve on the silence? Because I like silence."

Being asked in English means that I can't be seen to understand what he's saying, so I try to look vacant while L plants a kiss on B's cheek and beams at him.

"I love you, you crazy bastard," he says. Right, that's not on. Now he  _loves_  everyone but me. I must fix this.

"L, can we talk?"

"Not right now, thank you," he tells me. "It's a public holiday where I come from. B, B, B, I'm so glad you're here!"

"So am I, L. Three times," B replies, refusing to look away from me.

"Should I be worried?" Stephen asks. I forgot that he's been observing this for the past minute or so. L turns his head to look at him with a concerned expression.

"About what?"

"You two are like a reunited love across the ages. I'm worried."

L then completely disengages from B to speak to Stephen in a breathy voice. "Oh, my American. Throw me down."

I'm sure he's on drugs, including viagra, but I'm also sure that he's loving being in such a dominating position, since he's surrounded by three people who adore him and he wants to exploit it. All to get back at me, of course. Naomi arrives and stands next to Stephen, her face soft with bitter contentment as she gazes at the foreplay in front of her.

"You're so cute together," she coos at them. No, Naomi, not you too.

"We are most definitely not cute apart or together," L states. "What is wrong with you?"

"I just like to see people happy."

Stephen hugs Naomi and L loses interest in him as a result. I smile, B sees it and his eyes only grow larger with focus. Naomi takes Stephen away again (I always did like her), saying that she has to introduce him to someone, but I'm not in a position to enjoy the moment since B has not blinked for five minutes.

"Let's not allow language to separate us," B tells me in low English before swapping to what I think might be considered Japanese if you'd never heard it before. "How is... what's the word?"

"Life?" L says, before reverting back to English for his benefit. "God, you forget the most common words."

I don't think I can stand this to-ing and fro-ing between languages, but any word of Japanese out of L's mouth is an absolute joy. I still revel in the thought that I have managed to understand, I think, well above half of what's been said between them, and that L has no idea.

"Well, I was going for a more sexual term but 'life' covers everything," B accepts.

"B wants to know how your life is, Prime Minister," L asks me, acting as a translator.

"Fine, thank you," I reply.

"You're disturbing him, B. Look at that face."

"Yes."

"He's worried that he's disturbing you, Prime Minister," L tells me.

"You're not disturbing me, B," I assure him while glaring at L, who glares right back.

"He says that you're not disturbing him. He's so insincere," he says to B, who nods slowly while he stares at me. I don't know much about psychoanalysis sessions, but I'm fairly sure that this is not the normal way to go about it.

"He is quite something."

"He is. Was. Is."

"He reminds me of what's his face."

"He's like no one else," L breathes out dreamily. His glare becomes softer and I feel myself smile weakly at him, which unfortunately shakes him out of himself so he can go right back to glaring.

"L," B scolds him.

"I can say that."

"You can. It's good that you're being so open. I think we're making progress."

"I'm not on your couch. You'll get your jotting pad out and I just can't cope with that right now."

"If you had a therapist, I'd feel much better."

"Oh, please, stop."

"B," I say politely, "your Japanese is very good."

"He says that your Japanese is very good, the lying patronising dickhead bastard sod fucking twat," L informs him before, once again, talking in my language. "It's ok now, Prime Minister. We're done with you." He grabs B by the collar and attempts to drag him away from me, only to be shrugged off and reprimanded in an overly violent way which doesn't seem to bother him but bothers everyone else around us.

"Shut up, you brutal force of nature and let me speak to the pretty malignant narcissist," B shouts at him, only to turn back to me, instantly calm again, to speak in the worst Japanese I've ever heard. "Thank you. I can't. L taught me. Only a little."

"His attention span is lacking," L tells me. At that moment, Stephen runs towards us in some kind of panic and with his miserable shoes slapping against my marble tiles.

"L, save me."

"Why? What's happened?"

"Naomi has introduced me to a man."

"That was always a possibility. And?"

"I think he thinks we're on a date now."

"Ha. Well, don't disappoint him. Show him a good time. Rock the casbah."

"Just come over and slip into the conversation that you're my..."

"What? Man who puts the 'Law' in Lawliet?"

"No."

"We're stuck on terms, B," L calls over to his mad friend. "Boyfriend sounds ridiculous when you're over thirty. It just sounds ridiculous."

"It does, yes," B nods slowly. I almost feel myself nodding with him as he holds me in his terrifying stare. I tear my eyes away to look at something else, and L happens to be right there.

"Manfriend sounds worse. Too forced," he says to no one in particular, though he is facing Stephen. So, no. No one in particular.

"Partner," Stephen suggests, stupidly grinning.

"He'll think that we're business associates. You tell him. Say that you're very sorry but you're firmly heterosexual. You're just living with a man who prosecutes people and you're too frightened to tell me the truth. That should scare him off. Who is he anyway? I don't know half these people. Oh!" he says when Stephen points quickly at someone or other. "I understand your concern now. He's been in the papers for no reason, I know him. He's a big man in real life, isn't he? Ok, change of plan. The only way you'll get out of this is by being extremely camp. Point to me if you like and I'll do some tap-dancing and jazz hands. If I go over, he'll think that we're offering ourselves up for a threesome."

"L, please."

"I'm most definitely not up for that, Stephen. I'm very tired."

"Just come over to say hello to him and then do something to me, so he knows.

"Subtle. No. I'd like to see how you deal with this situation. Off you go," L laughs, slapping Stephen on the arse like a mustang. I am horrified by this, even more so when B lets out a high-pitched noise. I look back at him and his face has slackened into the kind of mask you'd see at Halloween. He pinches a few strands of my hair and pulls them sharply out of my scalp, puts them in his pocket book and walks away with no explanation. I don't know how to react, so I turn around again. I feel dazed and strangely empty, like he's been looking at me my whole life and nothing will be the same again. The world is new to me. I think it must be some kind of post-traumatic stress.

"You're heartless," he says to L after a swig of cognac, and is relatively normal-looking again.

"I know," L sighs as they watch Stephen lump away. "Bless him, look at him. Stephen. He's so worried about upsetting someone."

"He's very nice. You've done well."

"Well thank fuck for that. I live for your acceptance."

"You never told me what happened to that bloke you met when you arrived here."

"Toshio? It didn't work out. I got distracted."

"I can see why. But didn't he work for a paper over here?"

"Light? No."

"Hmm?" I sound out as I twist my head in their direction, because that would be the normal reaction for someone who didn't understand anything apart from their own name.

"Nothing. Ignore us," L tells me dismissively and goes back to B. "His English is ropey in the extreme, so we're safe. Toshio worked for  _The Times_ , yes. He had to give it up because his thumbs were double-jointed. He introduced me to the editor so I got my foot in that door and my thumb in that pie or however you'd like to say it, but he's a children's entertainer now so he's no use to me."

"I'm always suspicious of children's entertainers."

"You're suspicious of everyone."

"And with good reason."

"Yeah. So, a children's entertainer. What a fucking joke, eh? I mean, I could balance a beach ball on my forehead and make a poodle out of a balloon but I'm far too busy."

"I saw a journalist for a while."

"When was this? You didn't tell me!" L says, outraged.

"You know. You met him in London a few years ago. He was a patient of mine, which made it strange when he paid me after every session."

"Isn't there a work ethic against that sort of thing, or are you taking up a new form of psychiatric analysis with the emphasis on the anal?"

"Shut up. I'm a professional, damn it. He always was awful. No wonder his mother tried to lose him in a Spanish market when he was nine. He had deep and troubling issues about it that I couldn't help him with because they were so uninteresting, so we parted ways."

"What was his name again?"

"Dave."

"Oh."

"So common."

"Dave is the name given to children by parents who sleep in separate beds. That's what I used to tell David."

"Poor David," B exhales. "But  _Dave's_  mother was always nice to me. Kept saying that she had to feed me up and apologised about everything, even if it wasn't her fault. No money, but she had lovely cold hands for pastry. Still, when someone chain smokes Camel full strength and smells of Clearasil, it doesn't make you want to sample their cream puffs. She used to turn the TV off when charity fundraising adverts came on or she'd say: 'Change the channel, love. I feel terrible for those children but I can't stand their snotty noses.'"

"Ha! Excellent. I've missed you," L tells him meaningfully. I die inside. I think of broom cupboards at weddings and take two glasses of I don't care what from one of the waiters.

"I've missed you," B replies.

"Kiss me, you brute."

"What?"

I spin around as a reflex and then don't know what to do as they both look at me. "I'm sorry, do either of you want a prawn cracker?" I ask. "No? Ok." I nod and turn back around.

"I'm worried about him," L says. "So, have you seen Jack lately?"

"I saw him in London catching a train. We didn't speak. He was with a badly dressed woman and he looked furious."

"I liked him. Such a shame that he was straight. Lovely nose. Very aquiline."

"Equine more like. He had a wash and set last time I saw him. Like a quiff, but curled."

"You're breaking my heart here."

"He's never been the same since he found God in Denmark," B says, and gargles on something.

"He didn't, did he?"

"At least he found something. I hate Agnostics. I don't think that people who sit on fences should be rewarded for their laziness and I doubt that God, if there is a God, which there isn't, but if there is, will reward them for being unsure. Anyway, he has a chimney sweeping business now."

"I wouldn't let a man who found God in Denmark put his hands up my floo. I don't feel so bad now. Speaking of hair, have you dyed yours?"

"Maybe a little bit. I found a grey hair and it had to go."

"Oh, the slippery slope."

"It's alright for you. You look the same as you did ten years ago. You're one of those cocklodgers who doesn't age."

"I'm sorry. Well, your hair looks very natural."

"You noticed that it was dyed so it can't look that natural. Stop trying to flatter me, L. It's pointless."

"I wasn't. I was just saying. Oh, hold on, Stephen's back. How did it go?"

"I don't know if I handled it very well," Stephen says.

"Never mind," L replies sympathetically, and Stephen perks up enough to ask B another brainless question because he's King of Uninteresting Smalltalk.

"So, B, how was the flight?"

"Awful. A bloke in the seat next to me was drinking something from a brown bag and sniffing a bottle of Copydex and I thought: 'This is how episodes of ER used to start.'"

"That's why you should let go of your moral principles and always take business class," L tells him, and he's so very right. "Is your mum ok, by the way?"

"I think so. It's hard to tell since she had that stroke. She always asks about you, which only deepens my feelings of jealousy and resentment towards you since my depressive tendencies lean towards feeling like shit. Especially since my mother always loved you and kept telling me, and still does, that I should try to be more like you."

"Don't be like me, B. I'm not all I'm cracked up to be."

"I know that. It's not like I haven't tried to tell her that you're an immoral manwhore. It doesn't make any difference."

"B!" L shouts and then speaks soothingly. "Stephen, I'm not a manwhore. I'm completely reformed and clean as a whistle. Could you get me another glass of wine, please?" Stephen walks past me and, when he's far enough way, L shouts at B. "Are you trying to ruin my last chance at a meaningful relationship and decent life? I'm not a manwhore. I'm... I just don't like being alone," he finishes sadly. No, he doesn't. He hates being left with himself.

"I know," B tells him happily. "I worked you out long ago. Thing is, you'll never find who you're looking for, because effectively you're looking for two people – someone to love you and someone to hate you. A reason to live and a reason to die." L makes an unimpressed sound like a leaking gas valve but B carries on regardless. "Love is what you want but hate is what you think you deserve, and you'll never shift that now. You just like complicating things. I think I can guess which of those things  _he_  was."

"He was kind sometimes. Particularly towards the end," L says, sounding broken. I want to drag him away and tell him that I love him  _and_  hate him and I'm still kind and I'll never hurt him again and I even love him when he wears navy, but he carries on talking. "I really... But I feel strange talking about him while he's standing right in front of me, even if he can't hear me. Another broken heart. I don't know why I bother really. Sometimes I think that I might as well lock myself in a room, wear the same clothes day after day and hire some old man to feed me tea and cake. In fact, I don't want to talk about it at all. Back to your mother."

"Avoidance. One of your worst qualities," B mutters.

"Yes, yes, is your mother still diabetic?"

"That sort of thing doesn't just go away. The last time I visited, there was a terrible whiff of pear drops."

"You can't deprive a woman of her pear drops."

"I'll tell her that when she gets her legs amputated. I suppose it's too late to try to show her the evil of pear drops. She tried to hide the sugar bowl under the radiator, but I saw it alright. I sat down and she was looking at me strangely, like this, you know. I thought it was my hair or her conjunctivitis acting up again because it flares up in bad weather, but then I realised that it was the chair."

"Errrr..."

"It was Dad's chair. I was sitting in my dad's chair and I didn't realise. She still has his peptobismol on the table next to it. So she was staring at me and all I could think was: 'I'm sitting in Dad's chair.' The armrest was stained by his last cup of tea. It was quite poignant. She hates the Prime Minister. That's all she talked about."

"Are you talking to me?" I ask. That's my cue again.

"Not you, Prime Minister" L tells me grumpily and B waves. I turn around again. "Those must be two words of English that he recognises. Typical."

"She doesn't know who he is. I'd be surprised if she knew Japan had a Prime Minister. She probably thinks they're still running around dressed as Samurai. She hates Britain's Prime Minister. She said..." and he breaks off to laugh. It's a mad laugh, like a wild animal, a creaking door and an opera singer mixed together. "She said: 'Big bloody lout. He might think that he's clever but where was he when they bombed Plymouth?' I pointed out that he wasn't even born when the Blitz was going on, and she said: 'Give me Churchill any day. You knew where you were with Churchill. This new fella has a look of a guinea fowl about him and his wife hasn't got the figure for a polo-neck.'"

"Jesus Christ. Your mother," L laughs. Stephen comes back with three glasses of wine crowded together between his hands and doesn't seem troubled that L's been described in complete seriousness as a manwhore by his own best friend.

"When did you meet, you two?" he asks.

"OH!"

"It was on the playing field at school," L says. "We were eleven. B was standing in the middle of it, crying over a dead blackbird."

"I wasn't crying."

"Like a really ugly baby."

"He thought that I was. It was love at first sight but, sadly, never consummated for some reason and we're getting a bit too old for that now. Well, I could tell you why, but I don't really have time. So, L, lovely L told me to pull myself together. 'Now we're in boarding school there's no time for these maudlin indulgences,' he said, and then he walked off and climbed over the school gates. I was like: 'I don't even know what maudlin means!' so I went home and looked it up in the dictionary. I didn't know what 'indulgences' were either, so I looked that up as well."

"You were wearing a reflective jerkin," L reflects. "I remember it well."

"Mum used to make me wear it and I suppose that I got used to it. It was like a comfort blanket for after five o'clock. Sometimes she'd kick everyone out of the house and tell us that we couldn't come back until it was dark because she had to fumigate the loft. She never did, she just wanted us out of the house so she could watch TV in peace."

"Yes, Stephen. In answer to your unasked question, he was a right idiot. After a few years playing hockey, you couldn't have stunned him with a brick, and that's the magnificent man you see before you now."

"I owe it all to hockey," B agrees.

"Do you remember Mr Jones? When he said double numbers like thirty-three, his false teeth would fall out."

"Are you with anyone right now, B?" Stephen asks, trying to crowbar his way into the conversation in the most boring way possible.

"Ha!" B laughs.

"Oh my God, imagine," L laughs also.

"No, not right now," B answers. "Still getting over my last go and I need at least a few months between relationships before my mind can even consider such a thing, but sometimes sheer sexual frustration forces me to act. Alone forever, that's me. Psychologically, I'm extremely well prepared for it."

"You could have had me," L tells him. "I can cope with knives in small doses."

"I didn't know that. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Anyone could have had me in those days."

"Oh."

"But no, and ruin the only constant and rewarding human connection I've ever had? No. I've also seen the way you carve up a turkey, so the knife thing would worry me. I thought that B was going to settle down with this bloke in France, but sadly it was not to be because B is an idiot."

"He got rid of his beard," B grumbles, like it's an explanation. Stephen doesn't like this at all.

"You split up because he got rid of his beard?"

"It could only be an improvement," L murmurs.

"I did, Stephen, yes. Oh, L, I forgot to tell you. You know why he had a beard? Terrible acne scars under it. He looked like that church in Whitby which was peppered with shrapnel during the war, remember?"

"Oh dear. The only thing I remember is that he couldn't make a cup of tea to save his life."

"No, I tried to teach him but he was just too French. You should always treat a teabag with dignity. That's what my mum always used to say. So no, it didn't work out. Nothing good is meant to last. People fail. It's inevitable that we'll all let down and be let down in the end. Misery, then death. Alone, as we were born."

"Isn't he a joy?" L asks. "When I meet, sorry,  _met_  a man for the first time, I always think: 'Will this man look good in a fez?' and work from there. Fucking Bombay, will these people ever leave?" He sighs. I wonder whether I should do something about it. There are a lot of people and my mother keeps waving at me from the room where all the food and most of the people are. She says something to my dad and Sayu and Touta and then they all look at me. I'm sure they're all wondering why I don't join them. L's not there though, he's behind me, even if he is talking shit and making my mood fluctuate depending on what he says. I start on my fifth glass of wine of the evening.

"That's what happens at parties, L. People are there," Stephen speaks up. God, I wish he would go and play on a major highway.

"I know, but they're taking the piss now," L replies, and I feel a tap on my shoulder. "Prime Minister, don't you think it's time that you start throwing people out?" he asks me as he steps back from me to lean on Stephen.

"Could we –" I start, but he cuts me off quickly.

"They're very rowdy. You should think of your furniture," he tells me. This poor excuse for a party has only been going on for two hours but I couldn't care less if everyone else leaves or not.

"You can throw them out if you want."

"Brilliant. Stephen, turn the music off. That should get rid of them. And hide the alcohol. That'll definitely get rid of them."

Stephen is stupidly obedient, which might be the only half-good thing about him.

"So. Everything alright then?" B asks.

"Yes," L answers suspiciously.

"Just that you weren't very happy last time I saw you."

"I was very happy. My father had just died. It was jet lag."

"You wouldn't talk about Mr Pretty."

"There was nothing  _to_  talk about."

"L."

"Really, B, there wasn't."

"I'm surprised that you're handling it so well. What I actually mean is that I'm unsurprised at your evasiveness."

"You can be very patronising sometimes, you know.'

"He doesn't seem as bad as you said. It's hard to make a proper assessment without talking to him though. He  _seems_  nice."

"You mean that he looks nice."

"Can't deny that. It must be hard to be dumped for a woman though. If you need to talk about it later, I'm here. For one night only."

"I wasn't dumped. Bloody hell."

"You dumped him?"

"Well, my father died and I left, B. You know that."

"So it never officially ended? That is disastrous. Di–sas–ter."

"I think when one person leaves the country and you don't speak for seven months then that's the end. It drifted to a close. It ended on a bittersweet note even though I was such a... I could have acted better. I was my shitty self. We're barely talking and he assaults me in elevators, turns up at my house to kidnap me with only bad intentions and does other things besides, but that's another story. Apart from that, we're getting on very well."

"I have too many questions. I need my notepad," B says and there's a sound of rustling and a scuffle which ends in a smack. "How were you a shit to him?"

"I got drunk and I wasn't very nice."

"You're not a nice drunk. But if what you said was true, you have to leave him the hell alone. Leave, move away, never speak to him again. See, the thing I don't understand is that you did leave, but you went back, which takes  _us_  back to my previous diagnosis of your condition."

"I don't like him anymore."

"Look, I distinctly remember us talking about this. We agreed that you are not to fall for any more undesirables, no matter how desirable they might be."

"I never have," L says moodily.

"Oh my God, you have. Do. Not. Lie. To. Me. I will make Christmas wreaths out of your entrails. You know I will."

"I haven't. No undesirables."

"You HAVE!"

"Shut up, B."

"Ok, now I know that you definitely have. Why can't you like good people instead of psychopaths?"

"I do like a good person."

"No, no, no, I know you. You'll go for the pretty maladjusted psychopath every time. Oooh! Could you fill out a form for me?"

"What? No!"

"It's just a few questions on a scale of one to five. It's for a journal."

"I am not filling out a questionnaire, B."

"It'll be very tastefully done. No names."

"What is this, a porno? Fuck off. As I say, thanks, but I'm fine and we're fine in a professional sense, at some point, possibly, probably not, but we'll have to be. I like it here. My job is brilliant, the Tokyo branch of the firm is our best earner and you should see my office here. Plus, he seemed sorry for how he's acted."

"Oh, you mean about Stephen."

"Not so much."

"Well, I find Mr PM very interesting, based purely on what you've told me. Now I've seen him and I still find him interesting. That's very unusual for me."

"I don't really want or need to discuss it. Thank you, but change the subject."

"That you feel that way means that you do need to discuss it with someone and, wow, I'm a psychologist. You're in luck."

"This is between me and him. I love you, but stop," L says.

A few seconds layer, he walks past me in the same direction that Stephen went, and then there doesn't seem much point me being here at all. I leave too, but go outside. I tell the bowing security guards at the door to go inside to start getting rid of people and I don't care how they do it or what Kiyomi says. They just need to leave. I stand in an alcove in the front of the building where I sometimes go to make phonecalls. It's sad that now Kiyomi knows and the guards know and everyone knows that I'm often here if I can't be found inside, but it doesn't really matter. After lighting a cigarette that I don't smoke, I just look at the cars parked in neat clusters further away in front of me where there's normally nothing but a big open space. I haven't been standing here long before I see L out of the corner of my eye walk up to me. I've been trying to fill in the blanks of what he said about me which I didn't understand, and it annoys me that I don't understand and the only thing stopping me is a barrier of language. I don't move or let on when he stops in front of me, but he looks worried underneath a pretence of icy normality.

"Hi."

"Hi," I reply.

"Do you mind if I stay for a minute to enjoy this lovely weather we're having?" he asks. It's pissing it down. We're sheltered here, but just a foot away from this spot, we'd be soaked. I smile slightly and he must take it that he's allowed to stay. "Enjoying your party?"

"No."

"I'd say that I'm surprised but –"

"I'm sorry about what happened," I say quickly. He obviously wasn't expecting it at any point, but particularly not within seconds of his arrival. I'm not being specific about what I'm sorry for, but hopefully it's enough.

"That makes two of us."

"I just wanted to talk, really. I don't know how it went wrong, but I'm sorry. Your suit really was to blame. It started it all. Elevatorgate."

"I apologise on behalf of my suit," he says quietly and breathes out a laugh through his nose. "Hey, can I cadge a smoke, Prime Minister?"

I offer him one but he refuses; he just wants to leach on mine because in his mind it doesn't count, which is fine. I feel crowded by him and the wall behind me, which is also fine, and watch clouds of smoke and breaths which are indistinguishable from each other, rise into the cold air. He leans back to blow smoke above him and loses his balance, taking a step back. My instant reaction is to grab his arm, and he laughs again. Everything is calm and easy and I have trouble believing that it couldn't be more different than it has been pretty solidly since, well, ever.

"Stressed?" I ask him.

"Some man said to me at the airport today, on account of my tangible distress at the prospect of this party: 'Every day above ground is a good day.' Unfortunately, he had a dead daughter so I couldn't correct him on this error."

"You shouldn't be miserable, L," I say, leaning back against the wall.

"I'm not, I'm simply being dramatic and enchanting. Naomi is clawing Stephen and keeps trying to set him up with someone who was described as a 'media personality' in the paper a few months ago, whatever that is. That's where Stephen is now, I think. He's terrified of him. Do you know him?"

"No. I hardly know anyone here. Kiyomi invited them."

"That's a shame. It's your party too," he says, and looks like he cares. "Who would you invite, if you could?"

"You," I say, and realise that I shouldn't have said that. I look away and he looks at the ground and drags on the cigarette again. Too much time has passed for it to be made anything but awkward now, but he tries his best.

"Just me? That's not really a party, Prime Min –"

"Call me by my name," I tell him, because all that is fucking annoying and I feel a pang in my chest every time he does it.

"Light," he says softly.

"Thank you."

"So!" he exclaims with a rush of life after another inappropriate stillness, and takes a leaf from Stephen's book of smalltalk. "Read any good books lately?"

"Um... Have you read  _Lust, Caution_?"

"No, what's it about? Lust and caution, maybe? Or influences on political orientation?"

"The first one. Fiction."

"You actually read a book? My, my," he says, but I can tell that he's not mocking me for once.

"It was just a short story."

"It's still a story. Ruin it for me?"

"It's set during the Japanese occupation of China in World War Two. It's about a woman who has an affair with a Japanese collaborator, but it's because she's working for the resistance. She just wants him dead and it's all so she can infiltrate and be trusted by him so she can set him up. Thing is, just before he's about to be assassinated, she warns him so he can he escape before the resistance can kill him. You know what he does in return? He has the whole cell rounded up and kills them, including her. What was the point of that? What does that tell you?"

"That she was stupid?"

"No. It's that love makes you forget what's important, your purpose. It makes you forget what you'd set out to do in the first place. You lose your purpose. Your purpose becomes someone else." I feel and sound drowsy as I watch him. He looks away again and hums softly, and I'm not sure whether it's in acknowledgement or not. "B's watching," I tell him. I sense B's eyes on me and I don't even have to look to make sure. L looks towards the steps where B is probably standing in a pool of light seeping outside from the party.

"Oh, yes. So he is. Wave," he tells me. We both wave lazily towards B. He is on the step. "He's leaving tomorrow."

"I speak English, by the way."

He's obviously shocked and I feel some joy in it. I can tell he's reviewing everything that's been said and he's humiliated, angry and a lot of other things, as he should be.

"I disappoint you?" I ask. "I have a lot of issues with a lot of what you said, but you're disappointed in me?"

"I thought you'd try harder," he says, just to be vague and non-committal.

"With you?"

"It's rude to listen in on conversations," he says, looking away again. "Didn't your mother teach you that?"

"Say that I'm not too late."

"We're both too late, Light."

"You didn't have to come here."

"Stephen wanted to go and B wanted to meet you. I didn't get a say in it really."

"This hasn't been interesting for me so God knows what it's been like for you."

"I thought it might be interesting, but I have a strong suspicion that I've just ended up acting like a twat again. I had a drink before I left so I was prepped. Steel the nerves. Instant twat."

"I hope you didn't do that because of me."

"No. B's just... I love him but I've known him forever and it's like being confronted with yourself, you know? Sometimes I don't like myself much. But, when did you learn English? That's fucking quick, Light."

"I'm not fluent or anything. I thought it would be useful for foreign visits and stuff."

"It will be, I'm sure. Also, you can spy on them now."

"Hah. Yeah... L, you should have just told him."

"Who?"

"Stephen. You didn't tell him, did you?"

"One more person who knows? It's bad enough with B knowing. Stephen would probably just fuck off. Even if he didn't, it would do him no favours. And he wouldn't like me working for you if he knew. I like my job."

"So you'd lie instead. It's just easier, isn't it."

"Can we just be ok, please? This is not helping me, or you. I really hurt your face and I like your face, I do," he says, closing his eyes while he rubs his forehead. "I like you, like now, but sometimes you're a complete bastard and I want to punch you until there's nothing left. There's no need to dredge things up for the some flawed concept of honesty. As far as Stephen's concerned, we were friends and we fell out over work, such is the danger of working with friends when you have a difference of opinion."

"That's what I told Kiyomi too."

"An old excuse but a good one. Why not fall back on old standards. I told him that your family has rented that place you found since you were a baby. The lies just grow and grow. How did you explain what your, um. Your face?"

"I fell."

"I'm sorry."

"I wouldn't be if I was in your place.. So, they're all happily ignorant, what about us?"

"I just don't want to fight with you, Light. It's tiring. I don't see why, as two adults, that we can't do as we say we're doing."

"Be friends."

"Mmm."

"Why did you really come back?"

"My contract," he sighs like he's been telling me the same thing over and over again for decades but I keep forgetting.

"You know that there are no contracts between us. I've told you so many times."

"You say that. The last thing I needed was a breach of employment case that I couldn't argue against."

"You came back for me," I tell him, knowing that this is where it could all go sour. Our nice calm and quiet conversation could explode and I'll probably end up with stitches. These paving stones are pretty unforgiving.

"I might have, at first," he concedes finally and I want to hug him for it. "But it's not the reason I stayed. If we could be friends, I'd like that."

"But we really haven't ever been friends," I remind him again. I've never seen anyone who has the same ability to look so sad without crying. "How did you know?" I ask.

"Know what?"

"When I first met you at that inquiry, I didn't know. That day would have ended and I never would have thought of you again. I probably wouldn't even have remembered what you looked like after a few weeks, that's how little I thought of you. But you knew. You came to find me."

"Light –"

"So you did this. You're responsible. We're both responsible, but these things don't ease into friendship and the occasional coffee. I mean it, L."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't just stay away."

"Do you regret it?"

"In a way," he answers. His head hangs forwards as he drops the burned out cigarette to the ground.

"So do I."

"Did you mean what you said?" he asks. "About resigning and divorcing Kiyomi?" Now he's watching his foot scrape the cigarette end into the step and I worry about how difficult this is for him. I thought that it was just me who found it difficult.

"For you? I don't know. I wasn't really thinking. I was saying what I thought you wanted to hear."

"Oh."

"But I understand you now. I understand all of this. This situation would be untenable for anyone. You came back and you've stayed for me. Stephen's your David the second. Someone who'll make you tea and you'll never argue and he'll tell you that he loves you to make up for all the people who should have but never did. And he'll make you a better person, or whatever you think. The person you want to be, maybe. I'm the person you won't allow yourself to be. I'm your truth. You want me to stay distant and never, ever tell you what you think you want to know, because then I won't fit in this role you've allocated for me. I frighten you and I always did because I can only be one thing or the other for you, you think. I'm not going to make you a better person, L, because I don't want you to change. I want you to stay exactly as you are. You'll never know if I loved you really or if I just said that, I won't tell you, and that's how I'll keep you. You want to chase me, always, because you know I'm something. One person couldn't be everything to you, could they? But you are to me. And that's all I'll give you for now."

"I really want to change, Light."

"I know. Keep your Stephen," I say, though I don't mean it. Stephen will be gone before the first leaves are back on the trees. "What did you say? What he doesn't know can't hurt him sort of thing? Keep your charades and I'll keep mine."

"It wouldn't be fair."

"Ha. What is?"

"It wouldn't be fair on him or Kiyomi and wouldn't be fair on us, even. It would go nowhere."

"Some things shouldn't be planned out and put into boxes. Let's just stop pretending to each other, at least. Since you're here, and we both know why you're here. And yeah, L, you really were right – I am shit at chasing and I won't win any awards for it. I just wanted you near me."

It's perfect then, because he's looking at me like he's starting to believe me and he doesn't argue, but of course, these moments never last long. If we don't break it then someone else does. Kiyomi calls me from the door and we both turn at the interruption.

"People are leaving, Light," she shouts. I lift my hand to her and she goes back inside after blessing B with a second of her time.

"Right. Good," I say.

"I better be going too then," L smiles, though he looks a little stunned like he's just woken up after being knocked out with a baseball bat. "Nice party."

"Liar. It was fucking awful," I laugh.

"Yeah."

I see someone walking towards us from my left, and it's B, slouching up with a look of concern and possible murder in his face. It's a conspiracy how everyone is trying to get in the way when it's not their fucking place. I turn back to L, who's still gazing at me like I'm the sky at night. But I can't tell what he's thinking at all.

"If I send you a message, will you answer me now?" I ask. He doesn't say anything for what seems like hours.

"Yes."

To hear him sound guilty and ashamed and desperate makes me want to tell him that he shouldn't feel like that. We should never feel like that. I step forward and put my hand on his shoulder so I can speak into his ear quickly like I used to, because B's nearly here and looking more suspicious by the second.

"I don't know if you're driving me mad or keeping me sane."

As I walk away, I nod to B, who's wearing his inquisition face, but there's a distance between him and L that he can't breach because I'm in the way, and I think he knows that now.

"How are you doing, kid?" I hear him ask L.

 


	5. You Were The Toast Of A Town With Bad Etiquette

I remember the day after the night before. I drove home with one eye open and one eye swollen shut. I kept hitting the kerb as I drove and scuffed the rims of my tyres, but I only found out about that because someone told me a few days later. By the time I got home, it was late morning and I wore sunglasses. It's always useful to keep a pair in the car. You don't know whether the sun will be low in the sky when you're driving and the glare will get in your eyes. A lot of fatal vehicular accidents happen that way. You also don't know when someone might punch you. I couldn't hide the full extent of his punches unless I put a bag over my head, which would have attracted more attention, I reasoned, so I discounted it early on. I kept my head down and avoided everyone and went straight to my bedroom and just fell on the bed. It reminded me of when I was nineteen and I spent a lot of my time falling into various beds for about two weeks until I got bored of it. Once I got back here - which was my first goal with low odds of success - my intention was to shower. I was going to shower, get changed, break into the arms room and go right back to L's house and shoot Stephen. I'd bury the body. I imagined that L would be shocked but that he'd suggest it. 'We have to bury the body.' But getting home wiped me clean. It wasn't physically possible for me to move or do anything. L wasn't going to bury the body and he wasn't going to make me a cup of tea.

My arm hung over the edge of the bed, and the grey light from the window was so bright that it hurt the one eye that could see. I closed it. I couldn't be bothered to draw the curtains instead because it would mean moving. I saw black in one eye and a dark red lid in the other, so the overall impression of life with closed eyes was now brown. I lay there and wanted to sleep but couldn't. I thought of sorting myself out to see that it wasn't really so bad. Nothing seems so bad when you're upright. I needed to confront my problems and think rationally, but the greater part of me knew that wouldn't happen. It was better to stay where I was.

Time passed. It happens. Kiyomi turned up, as she tends to do when I'm in my bedroom. I was facing away from her. I heard her step and her voice and the rustle of her thighs rubbing her trouser legs together as she walked. She trained herself to walk in a proper way; like she's on a tightrope. I had told her not to buy mixed fibre clothes.

She asked me: "Are you getting up?" from the doorway. I opened my eye. No, I wasn't going to get up, because I'd just got back. "It's after twelve," she told me. Yes, but it was the weekend. The world stops at the weekend unless something happens.

She appeared around the side of the bed when I didn't have any comment on her timely observation. She was probably going to hold a mirror under my nose to check if I was still breathing, but then she saw my face.

"What the fuck happened to your face?" she shrieked. Not really a shriek. Kiyomi is excellent during times of trauma. It's a bonus prize I wasn't aware of when I bought her. If I was in a war zone, I'd send her across enemy lines with a torte and wait for them to wave the white flag.

"Kiyomi, don't talk to me for a while," I said. My voice was low and gravel-like. Like the gravel of L's drive. Like he'd shoved it down my throat.

"What? I'm calling a doctor," she replied.

"No. I fell but it's ok." My hand grazed hers to stop her from calling some paramedics, and the effort of doing that made me think of the fact that under normal circumstances I can do eight to twelve reps per set, even with higher weights. I could do more but I don't want to be too bulky. It's all about toning and core strength. I should lower my weights and raise the number of reps, I think. "I just need to be by myself for a while and then it'll be ok," I told her.

"You weren't drunk were you? What if someone tells the press?" This was a very valid question. I was trying to be concerned about it myself.

"Kiyomi, no offence but get the fuck out for an hour," I said. I said it as politely as I could, but I'd never sworn at her. I'd never had to. I always thought that she might hit me if I did, but as it was, it wouldn't have mattered if she had.

"You can't be seen like this, Light," she told me after a few seconds. The swearing passed her by or she ignored it. I must have looked like roadkill. It brought out the maternal, proactive logic in her.

"I won't go to the House until it's better. It's ok. I've figured it out," I lied.

"Can you do that? What about Questions on Friday?"

"I've nothing to say. Let Watari do it. Tell them I have a headache." That made me laugh and the bed shook slightly beneath me. I felt like I was part of it. I felt so close to crying that I didn't know whether it would make any difference if I laughed or cried because they're practically the same thing.

"You've never missed Questions."

"No." No, I never had. I'd never missed a day's work. Never had.

"People are going to talk," she said. "You'll have to take a week off and stay in. You can't be seen. The staff can't see you. You'll have to stay in here. They'll say it's getting to you."

She sounded like we were trying to cover up a murder. It made me think of L putting the kettle on after burying Stephen's body and what he would say. If someone else had done this, what would he say? He'd report it to the police on my behalf. He did it before, when someone keyed my car. He didn't know that it was Jeevas and, really, I don't think that it was, but he decided that it was Jeevas and reported it, saying that he saw him do it. He lied. I didn't stop him. I just stepped back from the whole thing and watched him have vengeance against anyone he wanted. It might as well have been Jeevas. So L did that, and then he keyed Jeevas' car and slashed his tyres with a penknife which had a 'B' carved into the handle and was coloured in with blue biro. He'd told me to pull over because he needed a piss. I was repulsed because we were in a heavily populated area, and although there was no one around because it was two in the morning, there was no toilet paper or running water with handwash and that kind of thing just worries me. He didn't have a piss. He ran across the road, and I thought: 'That's Jeevas' place!' and L attacked his car within fifteen seconds and without setting off the alarm. He came back, smiled at me and we didn't say anything about it. I'd never seen criminal damage committed right in front of me before, and it made me an accessory. I'd also never heard of a such a crime being committed by a respected barrister in his late thirties who was wearing an expensive suit.

The night before he left me for London and his dead dad, he said that he and B had done something similar to Astbury when they were seventeen, and he got a taste for it. I guessed that that was instead of his original plan of murdering him. B threw bricks through every window on the bottom floor of his house, and he had a lot of windows, while L totalled his Rolls Royce. L would have prosecuted the person who punched me. He likes prosecuting. Prosecuting isn't enough though, not when he's directly involved. Prosecution and retribution. The same right back and some extra, otherwise it's not justice. He'd probably say the same as Kiyomi. Practical. It's hard to guess now that he's fucking me figuratively since he's finished doing that literally.

I laughed again.

"It is getting to me," my mouth wheezed back at Kiyomi. I must have looked like a peeled blood orange with the whitest, straightest teeth in the district. I wished that she'd stop being so funny. It didn't matter.

She rubbed my back and I could feel the light scrape of her nails against my shirt. There was blood on my shirt. There was a time, a few months after L left, when I made him into some kind of distant ghost. What he said to me on the pavement was like the mad prophecy of a fortune teller who got into a taxi and drove away. There was a time when I kissed Kiyomi and I meant it. She was perfect in nearly every way. I'd never had a bad word from her, or the need to say one to her. We were happy. Everyone said we were. I suppose that it must have been true.

"I'll run you a bath," she told me. She thought that I was having very early mid-life crisis due to the realities of impending fatherhood. It's just natural to injure yourself and take a week off work when that happens. I felt her lift herself off the bed. I squinted my one eye open again to see her looking down at me. She looked pretty.

"You need a plaster on that, really," she said. She drew in a breath as she peered at my nose. "You should see a doctor, Light. What if it scars?"

I was a parrot. Everything she said seemed so hilarious in its pointlessness.

"If it scars," I repeated. Laughing.

* * *

I phoned L after the party. He didn't answer. I even left it for two days before I called. I checked my universal calendar and made sure that it wasn't a public holiday in England, since L had decided that those holidays followed him wherever he went. I left it too late. I should have phoned him that same night.

Naomi was over for coffee with Kiyomi. They had formed a coalition of interests. Kiyomi wanted a charity art project. Naomi would do anything which involved art and poignancy. It's all the meaning, not the actual art. You don't have to like it and you shouldn't like it because that would take the meaning away. It's not something you should want on your wall. If you do, then it's not real art. It's what it says to you that matters.

They decide on art for the blind. They'd find some blind people and make them paint pictures and then put them in an exhibition whether they liked it or not. I didn't quite understand the concept.

I walked in just to say hello to Naomi before I went back to work after lunch. To say hello and to see if Jeevas was still alive. He's hooked up to an IV and a respirator. I took a photo of him on my phone. Naomi and Kiyomi were discussing breastfeeding. Apparently Naomi could still breastfeed if she wanted to, despite the implants, but it's yet to be tested, thank God. This fascinating conversation led straight into a discussion of Stephen and L, which I thought that was very thoughtless of my feelings, but then I remembered that they didn't know about my feelings.

Naomi thought L was bad-tempered and didn't know what Stephen saw in him. Stephen's applied for permission to stay in Japan indefinitely. 'What does he think he has to offer my country?' That's what I thought then. Mikami thought that it was disgusting how Stephen and L acted in Haruki's and that they should have been arrested. That's what Naomi said. I don't even want to know. You can get away with a lot in Haruki's. Then I realised: L can't speak to me because of Stephen. Stephen's here and he's trying to stay here. In L's house. L wants me to stop him.

L loves him, apparently. 'Totally,' Naomi said.

* * *

I was going to see L in his office and just let Immigration send the standard letter to Stephen, but then, I actually want to see Stephen's face for the first and only time in my life. I text L and tell him that I'm coming over after work. He replies almost immediately to tell me that: 'It's not a good idea." It is. I ignore it. See how he likes it. He should make his fucking mind up so I'm making it up for him.

His house looks even more green in the daylight, like it's being reclaimed by nature. It's funny really, considering that he doesn't like nature. He doesn't like anything much, but when he does, he  _really_  does. Little leaves drape over his house from tall trees like swathes of green velvet. His old house kept nature far away because the architect threw concrete everywhere.

When I draw up, Stephen ambles out of the garage, wiping his hands on some old rag. He's bought a boat or something. L bought it, I bet. L hates the water, so of course he bought a boat and a house by a lake.

So greasy Stephen walks up to me and smiles like he's still at the fucking Christmas party. His face is almost completely symmetrical. It's supposed to be an attractive feature. People seek the symmetrical in partners. My face is perfect and much better than his, so I'm not intimidated. Oh my God, he's wearing a t-shirt. Oh my  _God_ , it's an alumni t-shirt. Why should I care if he's been to Yale? I'm sure that he just bought it in a visitor's shop there or had it printed specially. Am I meant to be impressed? Like fuck, I'm impressed.

"Hi, Prime Minister!" he says and jogs towards me for the final few steps like he's happy to see me.

"Is L around?" I ask. To the point.

"Yeah, he's inside. Let me show you my boat! It was a Christmas present, look!" He wants me to go over with him and point at his boat and admire the engine and propellers. We could bond over the boat. I don't move.

"It's very... boaty."

"I'm hot rodding it," he tells me. I hope that's not sexual.

"Right. Stephen, I've got to speak to you."

"Sure. Everything ok?"

"L's inside?"

"Yeah."

"Good," I say. I look at him for too long really, then I walk towards the house. He follows me, runs up beside me, talks to me about something I really can't bring myself to show an interest in and I think that he's taller than me. He is taller than me. Six foot fucking eleven, probably. Size twenty-four fucking shoes, probably. Hung like a donkey, probably. Blue eyes.

He cuts in front of me once we get inside and that's just  _rude_. He dumps his rag on a console table I remember from L's old house. I used to drop my keys in a bowl on the top of it. That console table is French Regency. It's not ostentatious though, it's just quality. I always liked it. It's been around for two hundred years and someone put all their skills into it and now Stephen's putting his dirty, sweaty, greasy rags on it. I honestly haven't hated someone so much since Hayato Dazai won the end of year writing award when I was eight years old. My work was consistently miles better. They only gave it to him because he wrote a hundred words about how his dead sister was living in a cloud. They just felt awkward giving me all the awards even though I deserved them. That was my first introduction to injustice.

There's something very Buddhist about this place, so L definitely shouldn't be here. It's very boring and spiritual on account of all the green and nature trying to break in from outside. All L's things are spread around in here and none of them match. It's like a display case for anthropologists.

He's got his feet up on his old recliner like an old man. He even has a blanket over his knees. He's reading a book - it's called  _Shantaram_  or something – and God, L. If you could see yourself, you'd cry.

"Hello," he says when he sees me walk in. I can't tell if he's glad that I'm here or not. Give me something.

"Are you sick again?" I ask breezily as I sit opposite him and cross my leg over the other. Yes, L. Look at my fucking legs. It's like they've been turned by a divinely talented woodcarver. I bet that Stephen has very pronounced, over-developed calf muscles, which, personally, I find very unattractive. Trousers don't hang well on them and it limits flexibility.

"No," L answers. He's not sick but he clearly is. He's saying no to sickness and trying to ignore it so it'll go away. He puts his book on the table next to him. I'm going to buy a copy of that later. His phone rings and he sends it to voicemail.

"He is sick," Stephen tells me as he rushes between us. I fucking know that, you moron! I've known him for four years and you've just turned up. Stephen picks up some of L's used tissues from the floor as he goes, and L coughs into another tissue, blows his nose, sniffs and hides the tissue under the blanket. He doesn't appear to appreciate Stephen's silent fussing. Stephen is unfortunately still here and throws some logs on the fire. He looks far too self-satisfied for his own good. I sigh dismissively as I look from him and back to L.

"I have a cold, Stephen, I'm not dying. For what reason do we owe this pleasure, Light?" he asks. Stephen sits on the arm of L's recliner like a trained bird and they both stare at me.

"Oh! Sorry. Can I get you anything?" Stephen chirps at me when I don't answer L's question. He stands up in readiness for my every whim. I'd like him to knife himself in the eye but he'd probably miss.

"I'll have a coffee," I say.

"How do you take it?" Boiled, you idiot.

"Black," I tell him. He smiles and reaches under L's blanket. L lifts up his hands in surprise like a thief caught red-handed and holy shit, what's going on here? Stephen pulls out another tissue, ruffles L's hair, L looks a bit sheepishly embarrassed and I probably look suicidal. Then he leaves to put the tissue in a shrine. Yes. Leave us alone and go lose yourself.

"What is he still doing here?" I ask L once Stephen's out of the room.

"He lives here. What are you doing here?" he replies. His voice sounds thickly rounded with whatever infection he's picked up. His immune system is losing the will to fight. It's actually trying to help him die and escape the horrible situation he's put himself into.

"Ooooooh... burn," I smile. "I'm confused. You wouldn't take my calls."

"So I was either paralysed or dead, right? It couldn't possibly have been a big 'fuck you'."

"I asked you if you'd answer me now, and you said: 'Yes,'" I say breathily, throwing my head back in ecstasy for a moment. "Just like that. All sort of 'what flavour condoms do you like these days?'-ish. Funny. I thought we were over this."

"No. I went home and had a think. 'Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.' You always flattered me, Light, and I'll probably always have a certain weakness for you. But I can restrain it."

B spoke to him. I raise my eyebrows and light a cigarette. He doesn't like it. Not in his house. Not with a raging fire going which is also smoking, and with open windows and the fact that he occasionally steals smokes off me himself, no. I stand up, he looks at me defiantly and hacks out a cough. I'd love to see him try to punch me now. I walk to his drinks cabinet which is still a drinks cabinet and root through the bottles. There's nothing worth drinking there. I blow a cloud inside it and shut the glass doors, trapping the smoke inside.

"Fuck's sake, L. Do you have anything apart from lemonade and tonic water in this fucking place now or is it just far too exciting for him?"

"Cupboard," he says. He's hiding his drinks in one of his work cupboards. That's a bad sign. He's drinking himself to death in private. There's a bottle of vodka hidden behind _Crimes Against Humanity: The Struggle For Global Justice_. You have to laugh.

"Ice?"

"It'll be in the kitchen, I expect. In a frozen box we call the 'freezer'."

Stephen comes back in at that moment, which is lucky.

"Hey. You," I say to him. He stops dead holding two mugs. "I don't suppose that you have any ice?"

"What he means is: Could you please get him some ice, Stephen? Thank you," L asks.

"Actually, Stephen, this concerns you," I say cheerfully. L swings his legs off his chair and he looks like he's both daring me and that he's frightened of what I might say. "L and I have an arrangement of a sexual nature and we have done for years. It started out as nothing but now it's everything and you're in the fucking way. Get your shit out of this house, get in your boat and fuck off." I don't say that.

"Oh?" Stephen says, dull as dishwater. He puts the mugs on the table.

"Yes. Unfortunately, your immigration application has been denied," I tell him with a sad smile of inevitability. It was inevitable. "I thought that I'd tell you myself."

"What? Why? Is there something wrong with my papers?" he asks.

"No, but there's a clap down on immigration at the moment to try and ease population levels in the Tokyo area. Just the whole country, really. I'm sorry. I tried to have a word with Immigration but even my reference wasn't enough."

"Shit," he sighs in shock. He sits down on the recliner next to L. I pick up my coffee and shrug my shoulders at L as Stephen stares at his shoes.

"Did you try  _really_  hard, Light? Did you bust a gut?" L asks me with condemning eyes. Oh, it's beautiful. The fury.

"It's ok," Stephen tells him, he lets his hand drop onto L's and I exhale a shuddering breath. "It's shit, but you can't expect them to make exceptions for me. I can try again in a few months, right?" he says, looking up at me. I pout as I appear to consider such a ludicrous idea.

"You could."

"But you don't see the situation changing?"

"It's not for me to say."

"Could you leave us for a minute?" L asks. He's looking at me but he means Stephen, I'm sure. "This won't take long."

Stephen leans towards L, who's still staring at me, and quietly makes some easing noises and pleas for restraint into his ear. Yeah, L. Calm down and just accept it. You know you want to.

"Thanks for telling me personally, Prime Minister," Stephen mutters as he stands up.

"I wish that I could bring better news," I reply, sounding devastated even though my face is aching to smile. He leaves in a sloping way and I turn to look at L again and let my victory show.

"You fucking bastard," he says.

"Oh, well, that's nice. Don't blame me that Immigration decided that they didn't want some unintelligent Intelligence whatever he is over here."

"Really?"

"Really. Truth is, they thought that he was a security breach. Strange, eh? That was what I thought."

"He's left the CIA."

"That's what he says. I'm surprised at you. Is this for show? I thought you'd want this. Makes it easier for you."

"You did this and you... what?" he asks, shaking his head slightly like he can't comprehend it. "You didn't do this for me. You did this for yourself."

"Did what? Put the brakes on it? Please. I have other things to worry about which are more important than your boyfriend, L."

"Get out."

"Blame me then. Whatever's easier for you. I'm just here to help," I say and gulp down my horrible coffee. The coffee's ok but it's been prepared completely incorrectly by a complete idiot.

"I'll lay blame at the right door, Light and it's yours. Get out."

"Now, now. This is fine but wait until Stephen's here. Do you want an emotional send off, is that it? Am I the big nasty man breaking up your little romance, is that how you want it to look? Ok, whatever you want. I'll wear my best scapegoat face."

He stands and I feel my shoulders slacken just from that alone. Fuck, what's wrong with me? He's eighty percent phlegm right now. He draws close to me until I can feel his breath on my face and I'll probably get his cold but I don't really care right now.

"Light?" he whispers. Yes. I close my eyes from the nearness of him. "I resign."

My eyes snap open to see him walking away from me towards the door.

"What?"

"Expect my resignation letter in the morning," he says, holding the door open. Oh no, no, no, no, this isn't the way it was supposed to go. He was supposed to leap into my lap and tweak my nipples and tell me how grateful he was to me for saving him from a fate worse than death. Then he'd throw out Stephen's stuff and give me my old drawer back. The idea of him resigning is so laughable I can't get my head around it. PR would implode. He  _is_  PR.

"I won't accept it."

"That's up to you, but I resign anyway. You can't stop the press, and I'll be ringing them just in time before they go to print."

"Don't you fucking dare. This isn't over until I say so. What is wrong with you? Is your brain infected?"

"It takes two to tango, Light. And I don't want to dance with you anymore," he tells me happily. What?

Of course, Stephen decides that this is a brilliant time to come back in and he's brought ice, the fucking muppet. His face is all confusion, like mine must be.

"What's going on?" he asks L.

"Nothing, Stephen. I'm just resigning from the government."

"You're what?"

"I'm in law, not a puppet master parade. That's Light's job."

"You're not doing this over me, are you? It's not his fault. L, this is your job. Don't be stupid."

"Yeah, L. Don't be stupid," I smile in agreement, having found an unlikely source of backup in Stephen. My smile must push L over the edge into full blown rage since he loses his joyful indifference.

"Get the fuck out of my house!" he shouts at me. Stephen looks like he's just been told that he has five seconds left to live and doesn't quite know what to do. He puts his hands on L's shoulders like he can contain him somehow by doing so, but then realises that it's useless. L doesn't even know that he's there, he's too busy glaring at me, so Stephen talks to me in the most apologetic way he can, which is pretty apologetic.

"Listen, I'm sorry, Prime Minister. I don't know what's happened, but you should go. Respect his wishes."

I don't move. I'm not going; he is. I'm going to stand here and watch him pack right now. Why wait? Just go. I'm going to tell him all about L and how he  _is_  a manwhore and he's fucked me every which way for years and he loves me, he told me. He just loves me, that's all. He loves me like I'm a part of him. That's what he said. I'm like no one else. He beat me up because he loves me, because he cares enough. It doesn't mean anything if it doesn't hurt. He wants to be my forever. I asked him to show me how much he hated me and he kissed me. That's what he did. He didn't see me for four hours and he acted like it had been months and why was I so far away? In me he sees a storm coming – the storm on his horizon. He was born purely for me but it works both ways. He said that I was too late but he didn't mean it. He said he was disappointed in me but he said he was proud of me once. 'You've scored big time, Yagami-kun.' That's what he said. He finds me interesting, I'm fascinating, I'm attractive when I'm righteous and arrogant. He's frightened of me. I drove a steam roller through his life. He's not a game to me and he broke my table. I'm not good for him, I didn't love him, I didn't even like him but then I did. I liked his face. He thought I'd try harder. I'd still be in Transport now if it wasn't for him. I was a useful idiot and a self-obsessed imbecile. He loves me in a place where there's no space or time. He said that I'm kind sometimes and that he feels like he's constantly pinned to a bed whenever I speak to him, that's what he said.

But Stephen's moving towards me to put a gentle hand on my arm. He's so fucking touchy-feely - what's wrong with him? He has no right to touch me, not L and definitely not me. I feel like he's pissing on my leg. He's disgusting.

"Get off me," I tell him, swatting his hand away from me so he draws back like I'm having a fit.

"Oh, look at that," L sighs. "Call him 'Light', Stephen. You don't need permission. He's just like you and me only he's had a run of good luck. He's still the old Light he always was. Still the same Light who was Deputy of Transport in front of an inquiry and still the same vicious bastard I found, flailing his arms at the world because it's not exactly how he wants it to be. I'm sick of seeing your face, Light. Get out. Get out or I might have more to say to the press when I call them."

* * *

"God, what is she wearing?"

"You do know that we're at her husband's funeral, don't you?"

"Yes, but there's absolutely no excuse for  _that_. It's more reason to effort in. I would."

"And what would you wear at my funeral, Kiyomi."

"Don't say that, Light. But, since you ask, probably that Balenciaga suit you bought me."

"Very nice. I'd like that. Maybe a veil? Dress the kid in black as soon as he's born. You're my very own Jackie Kennedy."

Yes, and blood all over her suit; I can see it. An eternal flame for me on my grave. I'll have left a mark and it's a glorious thing.

"Hush. You're terrible."

"We're both terrible. We should be at Church. Oh, looks like we're here, kind of. That's lucky. Now we can repent."

I see her turn to look at me out of the corner of my eye, so of course I turn to look at her. Her eyes are like every porn film I've ever seen. Lined in black. The hint of a socket. They're made to be seen closed.

"Please," she whispers desperately, lascivious bitch with a child inside.

"Whore."

"Sadist."

"Oh, Kiyomi..." I smile down at her. I'm not sure if she's hoping that I'll have her over Jeevas' coffin judging by the look on her face, which is an idea, but I point out that her photo opportunity has arrived. Girls only. Here is where we part. "Here's Naomi," I say. Her expression changes immediately with determination.

"Be good," she whispers back. "Naomi! Oh, you poor thing. Come here," she says loudly, arms wide to take Naomi into her heart.

Naomi collapses in Kiyomi's embrace and the photographers go wild. There's tomorrow's front cover of the papers then, because obviously this is more important than the twelve people who burned to death in that massive motorway pile up this morning. I look to the ground in devastation. I've lost one of my closest friends and it's an absolute tragedy. He had so much to live for and he was so young and had so much potential and how cruel of life to cut him down in his prime like this. This would all be very sad, but it is only Jeevas who's died. Jeevas and his fucked up corpse. It's been a long time coming, and I might have felt sorry for Naomi if I didn't know that she's been having an affair with Mikami for the last few months of Jeevas' life. She must have a thing for drug addicts. Kiyomi starts steering Naomi towards the car, and I wish I could tell her that she has a slick of Naomi's red lipstick on her shoulder. Naomi looks like she's so upset that she's bleeding from the mouth. It doesn't really show on the jacket, but Kiyomi's no longer perfect so long as it's there.

"Yagami," Mikami says from behind me.

"Mikami," I reply. "Sad day."

"Yeah. Yeah. Listen, Lawliet's here."

"Fuck. What's he doing here?" I hiss quietly and immediately start scanning the crowd for him. I haven't seen him for over a month and it turns out that I have absolutely no self-control. He's been abroad. He's been in France. He took Stephen and probably had some psychological evaluations done while he was there. This was supposed to be a safe zone.

"No idea why he's here, but he's here. Do you want me to get rid of him?"

"No, we can't do that. It's not worth it anyway. Where is he?"

"Don't talk to him, Yagami."

"I wasn't going to."

"Let's go, yeah? Done and dusted, so to speak," he says as Kiyomi waddles up behind him, unstable on her stilt-like heels. She looks fine when she's standing still, apart from that she looks like she has a hernia. I'll be glad when she's back to normal. Out of her clothes, she looks like the host to an alien and it's only going to get much, much worse.

"Light... Oh, hello, Teru," she greets him while taking hold of my arm, leaning on me heavily to steady herself. Mikami has been utterly accepted. The government approves of his and Naomi's adultery. "Light, I'm going in Naomi's car, ok? I'll see you back at hers. Could you collect the urn? I don't think that Naomi can deal with that at that moment. Bring it with you."

"No," Mikami says gruffly. "She doesn't want it. Spread it on that rose garden or something, would you? Just get rid of it." Was that a fucking order? He's lucky the press are at the gates. Don't want the barely dead husband in his metal case watching you fuck the widow, eh, Mikami?

"Fine," I answer.

"What's wrong?" Kiyomi asks me. She's very sensitive to my subtle fluctuations of mood. It's useful at times and not at others. She had a weak moment the other day, due to a hormonal imbalance, I'm told. Her mother decided to tell her that the great Takada had an affair while Kiyomi was a little girl. I'm not sure why she'd think that Kiyomi needed to know this, but it disturbed her to a day spent entirely in a dressing gown which ballooned out slightly over her stomach. She asked me if I'd ever have an affair, because, of course, I'm just like her father. I said that she's my affair. The next day, she was her old self again.

"There's nothing's wrong," I tell her. "It's a funeral, do you expect me to breakdance? I'll see you there. Mikami will go with you. Take the guard because I don't want him."

Mikami hands me his keys so at least I have a way of getting out of here. They go without further argument or comment; Mikami leaning into the car to speak to Naomi before they roll off slowly, crunching on the gravel as the gates open. The press must think that I'm in the car and press their cameras against the darkened windows as it drives by like it's a hearse. Everything slows up on a funeral day. As most people are leaving, I walk through the hornet's nest of rooms in the building, overpowered by the stench of flowers which are somehow chemical in this place. Flowers hiding the smell of bleach.

In a room with open double doors, L and Stephen have their backs to me. Stephen has his hand on L's shoulder as they laugh at something in front of them which is blocked from my view. With the screech of tyres outside, since the driver must have realised that he's still alive, they both turn their heads to the window and I dash to one side so I won't be seen. L's found a loophole, hasn't he? Retract the application before it was marked as denied and extend Stephen's temporary visa somehow. He has friends in high and low places. I'm not sure why he left the country and I'm not sure how long he thinks he can keep all this up. He's probably going to get around it by seeking a certificate of eligibility to avoid standard procedures through the Ministry and hope it goes through. He'll say that he wants to hire him to get a working visa if that doesn't work and lie and lie and lie. No point marrying the fucker abroad because it wouldn't be legally recognised for a specified visa. This would be an excellent time for L to decide that he's interested in LGBT rights. I'd laugh my fucking head off. It won't make any difference. He's pissing in the wind.

"Urgh. Bastard press," L says, in English. I peer around the door to watch him.

"They're leaving now," Stephen replies, walking to the window and pulling the net curtain to one side to investigate. L follows him lazily.

"So they bloody should," he says, looking outside over Stephen's shoulder. They're about the same height, but perhaps Stephen is a little taller. Imagined things fly through my mind as I look at them and I want to murder them both again for it. L's slightly tanned, for him, so it must be sunny in France this time of year. He's had his hair cut. It's shorter at the back. "Looks like they're after our darling Mr and Mrs Yagami," he continues. "That's the PM's car."

"I hope he gets no peace. For upsetting you, I mean. And he didn't like my boat," Stephen says in a low tone. Bastard.

"Stephen, that's shocking. Why wouldn't anyone like your boat? He's obviously mad. I might have to kiss you to make up for it," L replies. Another bastard.

"Not in a crematorium," he smiles slightly out the window. "I'll take a rain check. They're so perfect, aren't they? They remind me of Ken and Barbie. Poor Kiyomi."

"Hmmm..." L sounds out regretfully, resting his chin on Stephen's padded fucking shoulder. Fucking padded! "Don't hate him.  _Maybe_  I overreacted."

" _Maybe_ ," Stephen grins in agreement. "I don't hate him. I haven't got the energy to hate anyone."

"No. You can't, can you," L says, though it sounds like it's more of a statement of wonder based on his emphasis of the words. "You don't have it in you."

"It doesn't matter anyway, he's nothing to do with us now. Like you said, if you give him enough rope, he'll hang himself."

What? What does that mean? I miss an exchange between them because I can't believe that L would have said that to anyone but me. I can  _hear_  him saying it to me. I can see him saying it to me, and I'd laugh at how absurd a thought it was, but he'd never say it to anyone else. He wouldn't. Not to some fucking CIA spaghetti western fuck fuck fuck.

"I didn't mean it like that. I don't want him to die, Stephen," L says, and his voice is cooling. No, it's just a phrase, isn't it?

"Ha! I didn't think that you did," Stephen replies. "I meant that he'll make a mistake one day. He can't keep this shit up forever."

"He lives it though, and I don't even want him to be unsuccessful. I helped create him, so in a way, he's my greatest triumph. I just want him to disappear."

"Or we could disappear."

"Yeah. Take me  _away_  from all this!" L says dramatically with a laugh. He doesn't laugh with anyone but me. I've never seen him so much as smile honestly at anyone else but me. This is all wrong. I got this wrong.

"When you're ready to go, we'll go. Just say the word," Stephen tells him.

They say a few other comments that they laugh at. I don't understand and it infuriates me that I'm still at such a disadvantage to only understand part of what they're saying, and in relation to what I did understand the odd words I catch don't make any sense. Some flashlights and brake lights shine through the windows as another car attempts to leave. The lights colour their faces red and white in short bursts like the fireworks did in my dream. I have to get L alone in a locked room. I have to get Stephen out of here and get L in a locked room because I know how to handle this now. There's only one thing that worked. I step inside the room.

"I wish I had my air rifle. I could aim for their cameras," Stephen says, unaffected by the lights while L shields his eyes.

"If I had an air rifle, I wouldn't be aiming for their cameras," L replies. Stephen shows off his perfect smile and starts turning towards L. If he touches him, I will pull out every one of those teeth with a pair of rusty pliers... but he spots me in the doorway and frowns.

"How nice to see you on this sad occasion," I say.

"Oh, cunting bollocks," L says, pressing his face into Stephen's back when he sees me. "We thought that you'd left. I didn't notice that 'O Fortuna' was still playing in the background." Stephen snorts at that but then goes straight back to looking at me suspiciously.

"How long have you been there?" he asks me. If he doesn't hate me then he's putting on a very good show. I don't know why he should hate me because I've done nothing to him. Unless L  _did_  tell him.

"You both look well." I smile as widely as I can, like I'm deaf to everything.

"Piss off, Prime Minister," L tells me. "There's a soapbox somewhere with your name on it. Save your niceness for someone who likes being lied to and stabbed in the back. Yes. Stabbed in the fucking back!" he shouts. I keep smiling and if anything my smile increases. Stephen pats him on the arm and... God's sake.

"It's lucky I've seen you here. We need to discuss the severance terms of your contract. We might as well do it now for an element of poetry. A funeral and a death of a contract. If you're not too busy staring out of windows together like you're in an opera, that is.

"Shouldn't any discussions be done in the office? Someone should take minutes of our conversation."

"We're going to Naomi's now, anyway," Stephen says. "It's not a good time."

"Exactly. It's not a good time," L repeats with a stony face. I keep smiling to stop myself doing anything else.

"I insist. Best get it over with. I'm busy next week."

"So are we."

"Well, it's not really up for discussion then. We can talk in here. Oh, look. There's Jeevas in a pot," I say, noticing the urn on the table.

"Shame he didn't realise how much he was hated. People have turned up either to savour the moment or to support Naomi. And look at him now. Ashes in a pot while everyone's running off to his house to drink to his death."

"I have to get rid of him."

"Come again?"

"Naomi doesn't want to have anything to do with it," I explain. "His entire family is either dead or doesn't care, so I said that I'd take care of it."

"You're the last person who should. You hated him."

"So did you. Isn't it a bit hypocritical of you to be here?"

"No more hypocritical than it is for you to be here. Considerably less, in fact; I made no pretence of liking him."

"Neither did I."

"We're all hypocritical for being here," Stephens pipes up. "I didn't even know him. Just cut out the shit and get on with it." He even resents that L and I are speaking. He thinks that he can come in and divide us when he's just a brief joke of an intermission. He doesn't know what he is.

"Alright. Discuss my severance," L says to me.

"Ha, I'm sorry, but I'm not discussing anything with a civilian present," I laugh, gesturing towards the fuckwit, who looks extremely offended to be referred to in that way. L sighs and turns to his idiot.

"I'll meet you at Naomi's after I've spoken with the maharaja, here. The keys are in my coat pocket in the cloakroom, because some of us wear coats," he says pointedly to Stephen, who clearly doesn't go in for coats for some reason. Stephen would throw himself into a brick wall repeatedly (although he'd probably do more damage to the wall than himself) rather than oppose the will of the mighty L in any way. He rolls his head like it's barely connected to his muscle-amplified stalk of a neck and walks off. He's hardly Rambo, but I wouldn't say that he's made for a suit either. He always makes them look cheap and stupid like he's wearing an envelope. L always did like people who do what they're told, but it can't keep him entertained for long. I'm sure that this is all for my benefit. He's only brought him into his life to annoy me. As Stephen walks past me, I feel so numbly cold on one side that for a second I think that I've had an aneurysm.

"And, Stephen," I say. "Tell the manager that we're not to be disturbed. Important business."

Seeing his revolting blue eyes become clock faces as I close the door causes so much joy for me that I'm sure it must show. I flick the inside thumb-lock and turn back around to L, who's still in the same spot with Jeevas in an urn on the table behind him. I was looking at Jeevas' coffin a few hours ago before the reception, and during the reception he must have been burning. They didn't waste any time. It's almost like the world couldn't wait to get rid of him. Next to the urn is a horrible smiling photograph of a face which doesn't exist anymore. The top of the frame is decorated with a sad bow of black and white ribbon. The kind you'd normally see on a Yorkshire Terrier.

"I should warn you, I have a personal attack alarm," L tells me.

"You told him?" I ask, and he smiles, dips his head and rubs his index finger against the centre of his forehead.

"He asked me a second time and I didn't deny it," he answers. "He was quite disappointed in us both. I said that it was many years ago but it's still a cause of much friction because you're intensely embarrassed by such an indiscretion. Strangely, I feel exactly the same way. I only narrowly brought myself back from the brink of suicide. I also said that you despise homosexuals. You're a very complex character."

"You could say that I murder puppies in my spare time. Like I care what he thinks of me. I just hope he knows to keep his fucking mouth shut."

"He knows."

"Did you tell him that you love me? I bet you didn't tell him that."

"I would, if it was true."

"It's still true and it's pathetic. More so now that you've been fucking around with him, I bet. You must miss me like you'd miss your balls since you've saddled yourself with someone so inadequate. It hurts me to think of you so desperate."

"Ha. Coming from you. Ok. I think that's jealousy," he says, briefly pressing his finger to his lips and looking upward. "Yes. That's definitely jealousy. Hello, jealousy. He's easily as good-looking as you, and he's a good person as well, unlike you. I won the lottery, Light. Try to be happy for me, because everyone else is. I don't do long term relationships. Too messy. You're a case in point. I know everyone was thinking: 'Oh, that Lawliet, will he ever settle down? He's such a catch. If only some nice man could tame his wild stallion of a heart!' And now someone has. It's not as bad as I'd expected."

"He's a dickhead and you know it. He wears jeans." This is the best example I can think of right now. It sounded better in my head.

"He does and he wears them very well," L informs me, though my opinion couldn't be more different. "Thanks for your interest in my life. Let me assure you that I'm very content, but being in this room with you is ruining an enjoyable funeral for me. What do you suggest the terms of my severance are?"

"Forty million yen and a confidentiality clause."

"I'm going cheap these days," he laughs. "Eighty."

"Sixty and Mihael stays."

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. Mihael goes with me."

"I don't want him anyway. Seventy and your list of contacts."

"Eighty and you can have the contacts."

"Seventy-five and the name and address of the Yakuza boss you were working for," I demand, and he looks shocked. "Yes, I know about that."

"Are you really splitting hairs over five million yen? That wouldn't even keep me in rentboys in Soho. Eighty and I'll throw in a few blackmailing options for my contacts and  _all_  in a lovely spiral binder."

"Done."

"Oh, how nice," he exhales, like he's surprised that it's all over. "And to think that I was willing to walk away with nothing but a sore heart and migraine. That's about... six hundred thousand pounds. I can put a downpayment on that house in London I was thinking of buying. I could name it after you - Yagami Towers. Or maybe just 'Yagami'. You know what your name spells backwards in English."

"Oh, that's hilarious."

"So, how are you going to explain that shortfall to the Treasury?

"Expenses," I explain, and walk towards the window. I could have gone higher. Through the net curtain I can see the press dispersing and Stephen walking towards a taxi which is drawing up. He must have left the car for L. How ridiculously thoughtful and vomit-worthy. "God, there he goes. John fucking Wayne," I say. I thought that L would come to see what I was looking at, but he's still in the same spot like he's rooted to the floor. He knows who I'm talking about though, which amuses me.

"He looks good in a suit, doesn't he?" he asks provocatively. Delusional shitehawk.

"No. That suit is synthetic."

"It's not; I bought it for him. It's from Yves Saint Laurent's Rive Gauche line. He doesn't care about clothes though. After putting up with you for so long, it's quite refreshing. Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I think about the times when you orated about suits for what seemed like days. Then I find that I sleep like a lamb within five minutes."

"Rive Gauche?" I murmur weakly.

"Rive Gauche," he repeats.

"Vintage?"

"Your Tom Ford designed it. Still had the tags. You should see the label, Light. You should  _see_  the label."

"He just makes it look synthetic then."

I shiver and lose interest in watching Stephen leave. It's sacrilege that he's in that suit. I turn towards L instead, who looks like he's on the verge of an orgasm.

"What do you talk about?" I ask. "Nothing terribly highbrow, I'm guessing?"

"I admit, we don't talk much," he replies with a lopsided grin, obviously taking far too much pleasure from this than he should. "We're saving up conversations for our old age. Did I mention that he's very, very good-looking and likes me a hell of a lot? Dare I say that the word 'love' has been mentioned? He likes me that much. Ooops, sorry to let that one out of the bag. I know how you have a problem with it."

"I'm so pleased for him."

"Mmmmm..." he smiles dreamily, and I close the curtains. We're only warmly lit by two candles on the table next to Jeevas, and even they're burning down.

"But you don't love him. You love me. That must be awkward," I tell him. He might have forgotten and I should remind him, but he snorts out a laugh on a breath.

"The heart is a fickle, fickle thing. Speaking of love and significant others; I see that Kiyomi is expecting somebody's baby."

"Unless you're been living under a rock, it can't be surprising."

"Stephen told me months ago that you were 'trying', as Kiyomi put it. You appear to have tried and it paid off. And I saw the papers. I just thought that perhaps it was a mistake and that it was more likely that she'd run to fat instead. How far gone is she? When should we expect the demon child?"

"She's only three months gone. She's not very happy."

"And who's the father?"

"It's mine, of course."

"Everything's yours. I'll have to remember to send her some flowers. A wreath of lilies might be appropriate. Carrying your spawn must be quite draining. 'Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.' Otherwise known as The Child of Yagami. And, completely unrelated: 'From the eternal sea he rises, creating armies on either shore, turning man against his brother till man exists no more.' Maybe the Mayans just got their dates slightly wrong? Damien ended up in politics, didn't he? Well, if that's all, then I think I'll follow my man in the synthetic suit. Bye, Jeevas," he bows at the urn. "It wasn't very nice knowing you. That goes for you too," he says, facing me again.

"We should shake hands on the deal," I say.

"Must we?"

"It's tradition, isn't it? It's the end."

He rolls his eyes and holds his hand out reluctantly. I walk towards him, take his hand and let it linger.

"L, I feel like I have to tell you. I never loved you. I... I honestly think that I was frightened of the prospect of settling down."

"Thank you for telling me that," he replies with a set jaw. "I'm glad that I could be of some assistance."

"I just wanted to apologise. I lied to you."

"You didn't, actually. I was never under the impression that you thought anything of me really. I got you where you are. In the Kantei with your pregnant wife."

"You helped. Thank you."

"Well, if love makes us lose our purpose then you're never in any danger of that."

"No. I love Kiyomi."

Yes, like it's a fact and it undermines everything he built for himself. I was a fool for him, I'd keep chasing him and he'd keep pushing me away. But I haven't said the right lines. I haven't done what he expected and he doesn't know how to take it. When I look at him now, I fight the affection from showing through my eyes. I feel it pouring out like tears for him. I step forward and he goes completely tree-like in my arms. His breath hitches and I watch his face for something I'm not sure that I'll find.

"I'll give you everything you want and go for nothing if you leave me the fuck alone," he says, staring straight ahead. His eyes look mercurial in this dim light.

"I don't want you to go at all," I tell him, titling my head to watch my hands spread across his chest, letting them curve around his back under his jacket while he just stands there like my favourite statue. My favourite person. I don't think that he was expecting any compromised tenderness from me. I say that I don't think anything of him and that I love my wife, but I touch him like it's not true. I drag my mouth against his neck as I speak. He always did like that. "L, stay with me. I want to hold Jeevas' ashes while they're still warm. I want to paint him on your skin while I'm inside you."

"Prime Minister, I'm appalled. That's practically necrophilia," he quips nervously, and as I start pulling his shirt from his trousers, he reaches behind himself to stop my hands. "Seriously, Light. Get off me."

"This should end the way it started. I thought then that I'd never met anyone like you. And now Jeevas is here, you're leaving, you'll never see me again. But it was just a thought."

I pull away, but as I do he's still holding my hands behind him. I don't fight against them.

"Was it a lie? Don't tell me it didn't mean anything," he pleads with me. Oh, he looks so sad. It's his Achilles' heel. He just wants to be loved. He always envied me because I never wanted the same thing.

"I won't say that it wasn't fun though. You were close. Almost there. I suppose that we'll never know now. Let me kiss you goodbye."

He lets go of me and I lean forward to press a slow kiss on his cheek. His hands move over my back to hold me there and I speak into his ear.

"What do you see? Boring, boring, boring and forever. This is such a missed opportunity. It's a shame."

I stop speaking, because that's always been my downfall with him. He misunderstands me, he doesn't hear me, he wants me to say things I can't say. Maybe he did like me better before. We speak in different languages in many ways and I have to do this right. It's risky but his hands are on my back. His hands are on my back.

He kisses the curve between my bottom lip and chin, but I raise my face out of his reach like he's something vile to me. He takes my jaw tightly in one hand, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are so angry.

"There you are," I breathe out, and he kisses me with everything I never doubted that he felt for me, otherwise I wouldn't have chased it; I could have let him go but I knew it was there. I want to beat our mouths into purple, bloody, deep bruises like lipstick marks on dying roses. His hand cups around the back of my head, because he wants to keep me here. I knew it.

* * *

"Where have you been? More importantly, what happened to your suit?"

I keep dusting at some of the grey smudges on the arm of my jacket. I thought it was ok, but in this light I look like I've been kept in a dusty shed for a few years.

"Sorry. Fucking wind blew Jeevas back at me," I explain. Kiyomi is not impressed with me at all. I've acted shamefully and I've come back to her like this. It hurts when I sit down so I'll stand whenever possible. Naomi's house is so cluttered with art and things of cultural interest and beauty that it's completely overwhelming. Nothing is able to speak; the whole effect just shouts at you at once. Not a trace of Jeevas is left here now, but I brought him with me.

"Oh God, don't let Naomi see you like that!" Kiyomi panics. She pulls me off to one side and dips a napkin into her glass of water to dab at the spots and streaks on my suit and my hair and my face. It's between my fingers, it's on my wedding ring, it's under my nails.

"Have I missed anything?" I ask the crown of her head. She glances up at me, looking very irritated.

"My ankles are swollen. Apart from that, no."

Pregnancy does not suit her. She knew almost immediately and she felt sick and tired and achey almost immediately and she swelled up like she has a slowly inflating beach ball shoved up her dress.

"Sit down then," I suggest. She's wearing indoor shoes which her feet are bulging out of and the toe thong presses in over her black stockings. She looks miserable. I've never known Kiyomi to wear ugly shoes in private, let alone at a formal reception. Especially since everyone else is wearing their nice shiny shoes and flouting the conventions of a private house.

"I'll have to get a pair of those Ugg boots. I can see it," she whimpers.

"Are things really that bad?"

"It's getting that way. There. That'll have to do," she says, walking around me to check her handiwork over before throwing the napkin into the bin. "Light, honestly. Everyone knows that you must always stand downwind."

"I'll get a drink and join in with all this fun," I tell her happily.

"Oh, you horrible man. You're going to wave your glass in front of me when I'd kill for wine!"

"Well, you can't have any!" I laugh and turn around as she walks off with a snort. I smack straight into L. He looks top fucking shelf.

"Ooooh, hello!" I smile at him.

"Excuse me," he mutters, pushing past me.

"You've got Jeevas on you," I call after him, which makes him come back.

"Shut the  _fuck_  up," he snarls quietly. "You are really perverted, you know that? I thought that I'd written the book on depravity but you make me look vanilla."

"He tastes just how I imagined he would," I reply, wiping the corner of my mouth. "Oh. Hello, Stephen. How nice to see you again."

"I'm guessing you sorted out the contract then?" he says moodily and moves like a slug to L's side, holding out a glass of wine to him. I see an opportunity and seize it, killing two birds with one stone as I reach for a lone glass of wine from a tray on the table.

"Yes. Everything was very satisfactory," I answer with a smile. Jeevas is in my mouth. He's grit in my teeth. He's grit in L's teeth. Fuck me.

I have a swig of wine and spit it into a plant pot. L takes the glass Stephen gave him and swills his mouth out. Spit or swallow? I can't wait to find out. He spits into the plant pot too. Oh, that's disappointing, but I suppose that it is Jeevas.

"I'm ready to go when you are," Stephen says to L.

"Now, then."

He's covered in Jeevas. It's beautiful. I could do it all over again. This is what my dick tells me. But he's leaving?

"So soon?" I ask antagonistically. I stand closer to L. I wish that Stephen had half a brain and could figure this out. It couldn't be more obvious. The possibilities of what I could do without people finding out seem boundless. I'm like god! But Stephen doesn't see that and ignores me completely.

"The flight leaves in two hours," he reminds L. What?

"Flying back to the motherland? Problem with your visa?"

"We're going to sort some things out," Stephen tells me reluctantly.

"Really?"

"You tell him," Stephen says to L gruffly.

"We're moving his things into my apartment in New York. I couldn't stand staying in Virginia. I have to shift the tenant out because he doesn't think I'm serious about him  _having_ to move out. Like we won't notice that he's still there," L explains.

"And L's got to meet my family," Stephen smiles at me smugly. No, that can't be right. L doesn't do families. He's been avoiding mine for years. My family hate him, but still. L grips Stephen's arm while he gingerly bends to dust Jeevas off his shoes. He hasn't even laced his shoes up and I get another pang of remembrance low in my stomach. Bent knees and dry with ashes instead of wet and he nearly cried. I nearly cried. It's amazing that we can move at all. Why can't Stephen see this? Isn't it like a neon sign that I've just fucked his reason for living in a crematorium and he fucked me right back. Admittedly, it wouldn't be the first thing I'd think of if I was him, but L's dusty and I'm dusty. I  _was_  dusty. Why is Kiyomi so fucking socially responsible? I desperately want him to know and I actually bite my tongue so I don't tell him right here and now. I remind myself: I am the Prime Minister, I am the Prime Minister, but I am also pure sex and it courses through me. Why can't Stephen see that? I made L bleed. I made L bleed and you can't hide that and now Stephen's taking him to meet his family around a lamb shank on a lace tablecloth?

"Yes, which I'm clearly thrilled about because that won't be excruciating at all; being asked thousands of questions by nosey people," L says. "We should just draw diagrams for them. I'll get my blood test results sent over, write a report, maybe do a pecha kucha presentation, it'll be fine."

"Bit too close to home?" Stephen laughs. Stupid bastard. He's angry for some reason but not with L, never with L. It's always someone else's fault and it's usually mine. I swear to God that the man has no personality or intelligence apart from what he leaches off L. He's accepted by association. I want him dead and ashes and I'll... No. I want him dead and I'll prop him up in the corner while I fuck L, so he can watch. Yes. Then I'll have him stuffed and make a lamp stand out of him. Put a fucking lampshade over his head and a light bulb in his mouth. Yes. Cut his cock off and make it into a very small draught excluder. Yes. Make his hand into an ashtray -

"Oh, you mean that I don't like being questioned because I'm used to doing it?" L asks him, then puts on a sarcastic display of finding it very funny, leaning on him to support himself before suddenly reverting back to being sullen. "So, it's a bit of a road trip. We're going to Kerouac around for a week," he tells me spitefully. "The flights are extortionate." You want me now, again, I know you do.

"We  _could_  have taken economy," Stephen suggests. Oh my fucking GOD!

"You're joking again," L says. "I can't cope with how funny you are. Let's go then," he says, tipping the last drop of wine down his throat. "Don't bother Naomi. She's probably far too ecstatic to appreciate our condolences." They're already walking away. He's leaving, just like that. Stephen says: "I'll phone her before we go, I think," in English and L nods like he couldn't give a shit because he doesn't give a shit, but he's still leaving.

"Thank you for sparing me with your valuable time," I call out. They stop and look at me like I'm trying to give them a religious newsletter. I smile at L and just at L. "Will you call us when you get back? We could have dinner or... actually, L? We should take up tennis again, don't you think?"

"No."

And they leave without even a trace of good manners.

* * *

He spends more time out of this country than in this country. It must be for tax reasons. Beyond that, I don't really think of him much. Maybe all I needed was one last hurrah that will not be discussed on talk shows one day. I didn't even know that he had an apartment in New York. I'm having a new office built and it's very special.

So, it's all going well. My head is clear and pure and I work with demonic dedication. But a week and a half after the funeral, at two in the afternoon and after a very substandard 'gourmet bento' at a new fusion French Japanese restaurant which I don't think will be open for very long, the door to my office flies open.

"Don't say anything," L demands as he strides in.

My secretary stands just in the doorway in her satin blouse and looks like she's already receiving her reference, tax statements and good luck wishes for finding a new job after allowing someone to burst into my office unannounced. She doesn't know him. She's new here. She doesn't know that this isn't an unusual thing for him to do. I nod at her once in a relaxed way so she knows to shut the door rather than call security, then I stay in my chair behind my desk and watch him pace around my office like he's an anxious actor about to go on stage. He's angry about something and I really can't think what it is. I haven't done anything. He's brimming with the same furious aura as when he blamed me personally for the range and quality of meals, drinks and service on long haul flights in and out of Japan. But that was a long time ago.

"I was just walking past the House, as you do when you're looking for somewhere that sells milk in the government quarter, and I was stopped by the chief whip of the opposition," he says, still pacing. "Lapels, you know. Don't know his name, he knew mine. Apparently, I'm being head hunted. At first I'd completely forgotten and then I realised that, oh, I really  _did_  resign, didn't I? My temper. You bring out the very worst in me. You're every good and bad person I've ever known. Whip boy was flattering me senseless and all but wrote a long number after yen symbol on a piece of paper before burning it, and it occurred to me: My God. I could have you. I could  _have_ you. Everything I know about you. That's why they want me; just to get to you, I'm not stupid. It's not for my charm and sophisticated air. Thing is, red is definitely not my colour."

"Have you come to ask for your job back?" I ask. "It's yours."

"I haven't. But, as I said, don't say anything. So, then I realised something else, and I thought: 'What a lovely day to have a Prime Minister on his knees.' This could all be so different. It hasn't escaped my notice that you've been stalking me. Well, as much as a Prime Minister can stalk someone. Have you hired a private investigator? You can answer," he tells me and stops moving around so he can see me reply. Good of him.

"No."

"Thought not. You're far too careful. Do you know that I'm paying Mihael to do absolutely nothing just so you can't get your nasty little hands on him? I am. He tells me that you offered him a job as your aide? I would have thought that you'd have plenty of those knocking about already. Is the PR mess mounting up, Prime Minister? And my office over there is all empty with  _my_  aides trying to figure out what to do with memos when they don't even know how to zest a lemon properly. I should know. I hired them. They're useless. It's always surprised me that they can answer a phone. Why haven't you replaced me? No, don't answer that. Do you want to know what my great idea is?"

He stands in front of me and I'm starting to think that calling security would be a good idea. He's in one of those hyperactive, dangerous moods which usually builds until it's expelled by some act of violence or a sacking. Although I'm not entirely opposed to either of those things and could bring some people in who he could sack for me, I am on work time at the moment.

"Would you like a coffee?" I ask, looking into his manic eyes which look so large that they remind me of the petrol gauge and mileometer on my car. "With gin in it?"

"No!" he gasps excitedly. "Here."

He's pointing the floor, but then he flexes his foot and the leather of his shoe cracks and stretches. I'm confused and I must look that way.

"You said that you'd kiss my shoes if I wanted you to. I want you to kiss my shoes," he says.

"What?"

"There's nothing quite like having a powerful person willingly submit to you. What a hard on that would be; for them to debase themselves totally because I ask them to. And that's what I want you to do. If you did that, I'd have to give you some serious thought because, believe me, at the moment, I'm not. One of my many talents is the ability to walk away from things and people over and over again, but you really don't seem to be able to do that. I suppose it depends on how much you want it."

I laugh anxiously for several reasons. "L, I was joking."

"Oh. Ok. I misunderstood. That's fine."

Hold on, he's leaving?

"Wait," I blurt out, and only afterwards do I realise how that sounds. I don't want to submit. I think I've done enough of that recently, he's fucking insane and his shoes look like they're caked in shit. He walks back towards me and smiles like he's won already. I try to look hurt by the suggestion but it only makes him smile more.

"On your knees," he says, and bites down on his fingernail while he stares at me with his mad eyes and his mad face and his dirty shoes. I think about how well I've been doing. As long as I don't see him ever again and if no one mentions him and if I never see another dark-haired, tall man in a suit again, I think I'd be well on the way to a full recovery. But now I'm considering kissing his shoes for no reason. Scratch that, I'm on my knees and I don't look very happy about it, I'm sure. I look up at him as he looks down on me like he's Caligula and I'm some abused and fed-up servant. "I walked through a park just for you. Through all the dog shit and dirt and dead animals I could find, just for you," he whispers.

Oh God. I sigh loudly and I can't believe I'm doing this but it's either this or he goes and it doesn't really mean anything anyway. I'll wipe my mouth and it'll just be a memory. Swill my mouth out with antibacterial solution - it'll be ok. I'm sure that I've done worse. I must have done worse, but I was probably drunk at the time. I should be drunk. Maybe he'd let me have a couple of gins first? No, it's ok, I had a dead Jeevas in my mouth and everywhere else not even two weeks ago. You can't get worse than that. There is actually bird shit on his shoe. Oh, no.

"L -"

"Light?" he strings out expectantly, smiling down at me and rubbing his finger across his bottom lip. His eyes look like they're about to pop. "No chaste kiss, now. Do it like you mean it. My shoe loves you."

I feel sick every time I look at his shoes. I glance back up again at him in a last-ditch plea for mercy, but he's biting down hard on his finger now. Really biting it. It can't be that good. I decide to get on with it because I feel my gourmet bento rise up my gullet with every second that passes. I'm just making this harder for myself when I know that I'm going to do it. I lower myself down to the floor and feel my lips go thin as I press them to the vamp of his foot. My mouth is disgusted by me. It wants to disown me. How could I treat it this way? It wants to jump ship.

I sit straight again just in time to see L gazing into his phone dispassionately like he's been distracted by a text message during a boring conversation. He's taken a fucking photo, the bastard! I instinctively reach for his phone but he takes a step back and shows me the photo from where he is. You can tell that it's me. He's very good at cropping. My worst fears are confirmed. No one has hair like me and I've worn this suit before - it was in the paper.

"Ooooh. There's a scandal right there," L exhales. "There's your public execution right there. Imagine if this found its way into an editor's inbox."

He expects me to say something but I have nothing to say. This is a very, very bad moment for me. He crouches down to be on my level, with his phone dangling from his hand. It's last year's model too. Why can't he ever upgrade like everyone else? I'm going to make a grab for it but then he leans forward to speak to me so softly that I forget about the phone.

"Are you so scared that I'll go if you speak or are you scared of what I'll do with this? No need to answer. This is what you're going to do. You're going to authorise Stephen's application. Ah, no. No words or lies from you, thank you," he hushes me when I immediately open my mouth to protest. "You're going to authorise it today. Sing his praises to immigration, hack it, I don't care. You're clever, just do it and quickly, otherwise I might find myself in America and there'll be no more Lawliet for you. But I might keep this, and one day, when I'm feeling a little bit nostalgic, you might wake up one morning and find yourself all over the papers. Don't worry, I'm not cruel. This could have been much worse for you, but I'm giving you a choice."

"What choice?"

"Do this, and I'll come back. In all ways. It seems like you're floundering, Prime Minister. The opposition's new ghost writer is pretty good, isn't he. You missed a week of work a few months ago, the press wondered where you were. Thought it was getting a bit much for you. They say that you're showing signs of strain around the eyes. Crows feet. And then you're seen with a bruised face - oh dear! Then there was the Cabinet meeting. That's really not like you at all. Sounds like you could do with some help. Someone needs to shut him down and I happen to have a way to do just that."

What a shit argument. The Cabinet meeting was absolutely nothing. Tsukino has found himself a speech writer. He must have, because of the dramatic improvement. It's nothing I can't handle, but he wandered into my Cabinet meeting, insulted me and my policies in a wordy way and left before I could reply. Because he did manage to make his escape (because it did shock me - he can't string a sentence together normally), word spread that I was losing my touch. My wife's pregnant and I'm suddenly stupid as a result. I did think at the time that if L was there then he would have killed it, but then, I blame L for pretty much everything, ever. So, yes. It's a shit argument. And I don't have crows feet around my eyes.

He did say that he'd come back 'in all ways' though. He should clarify.

"I could shut him down myself," I tell him. Clarify.

"Hmmm... well. You don't even know who the ghost writer is. All those are complimentary extras on the table."

"How about you on the table?"

He grins at me. A sort of shit-eating grin.

"How about you on the floor?" he asks, and I smile back at him. He tilts his head to one side, like he does, but then I'm suddenly on my back. He's kicked my legs out from under me and I have no idea how! I don't think that's even physically possible! He stands and kicks me over onto my front, placing his hand around the back of my neck so the side of my face is flat to the floor. Everything reminds me of other times when he was playfully vindictive rather than vicious. "Face down, there's a good boy," I hear him say.

"No," I pant out from the pain in my side where he kicked me. I'm going to kill him.

"Humiliating, isn't it. When you're just some body. And that's not the worst of it, let me tell you. You would actually let me do it, wouldn't you. How times change."

He takes my hand and pulls back my jacket impatiently while I struggle like a fish on a hook. He must be looking for the cufflinks and he finds them.

"Ha! You must be in love with me or something," he says, flinging my hand to the floor.

As soon as I feel him leave, I see him walk around me to sit in my chair in front of me. I was going to tear at him but he looks so carefree as he bends over his phone and flips through the screen with one hand that it completely disarms me. He picks up my cooling coffee with the other hand.

"Well, depending on how quick you are with Immigration, I'm free on... Monday. No, Tuesday. How's Tuesday for you? Stephen's away until Thursday. It's his mother's birthday and you know how I don't do families. I came back home early on business. He knew I was lying," he smiles affectionately at his phone. "But you better not turn up without his permanent status of residence papers or you'll be something they'll have to scrape off the tarmac. So, Tuesday?"

"Ok," I sigh after a minute. He waits for my answer all that time.

"Pardon?"

"I said, ok. Why are you doing this?"

"New York doesn't suit my temperament and, like you said, Stephen's very nice. Too nice sometimes. What he doesn't know won't hurt him. You said that too."

He looks almost sad then, like he did at the party before it ended. I don't even feel like have any control over myself as I kneel between his legs and reach up to kiss him lightly on the mouth with my eyes open. It's reverent, like I'm frightened. I'm just a worshipper at his altar and he knows this. He does nothing except look down on me.

"Cash on delivery," he says. My hands fall to his feet as he stands. "Prove yourself to me. We'll see what happens."

He leaves then, and I'm left with what I've done. I did debase myself and I can't shake it away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about ash sex. Let's not think of the logistics of it. It just happened, I swear. I had absolutely no control over it and I'm sure you don't mind that I faded to a very, very dark black. My jaw hit the floor and I was silently screaming but my fingers had a life of their own. Like, that whole section right through to the very end made me feel a bit queasy. Jeevas needed a send off though. RIP Matt. He even dies in politics.
> 
> The immigration stuff is all rum baba I made up. I don't know much of anything about immigration, so I'm just twisting things to suit. No research for me.


	6. With The Sugar Sickness You Spy The Kidnap Kid

I always wanted a future. A life with opportunities. When you're born with potential, as I have been, it's a crime to waste it. I understand L completely, like I said. He would and could ruin me. I don't want control over people; I want control over situations. In a wider sense, once you control an environment, you can't help but have an influence over people. I wouldn't call it subterfuge just because it's a medicine which is tasteless and easier to swallow. L is more for the brute force attack. It's quite fun to watch, but it must leave a hollow feeling. You never want it to be over, so you drag it out. L saw a storm in me, and that storm could break him. And I will.

We have to act the way we should.

At the end of a review for the press under the cherry blossom trees at the Kantei (just for a change of scenery), I was asked about Jeevas. The sun went behind a cloud, petals fell like snow around me and I brushed them off the arm of my jacket. Well. One life ends and it makes no difference to me. I didn't feel it happen and my life remains unchanged by his life and passing. Naomi phoned to tell us and she sounded almost relieved. I had a whiskey, even though it was before six, because after the week I'd had, it was a nice finish. Jeevas is a distant memory already to all who were unfortunate enough to have known him. His wife is shacked up with someone else, although they're trying to keep it discreet out of respect, which is something that they do not feel, and I despised him as though he'd murdered my entire family. I thought once that he either wanted to fuck me or be me. I almost wanted to suggest years ago that we should bang each other's heads against walls and tear each other apart from the inside. Sometimes I think of him at night. I have a picture in my head of him unconscious but propped up on a stretcher like he was awake, with wires running out of his arms. I wondered why they bothered. In my mind, he was always dead. He was nothing more than a nightmarish stain on the carpet which is hard to shift.

No. I made a statement on the podium and I looked sad and regretful. I spoke of friendships, the same old legacies and tragedies. I must have appeared to have meant it. The question is: why don't I mean it? Other people appear to care, but then, I appear to care. I don't care, and maybe they don't either, but it's considered to be the right thing to do. We should. Even for the lowest people who do despicable things. We should show mercy, but what is mercy but an egotistical self-indulgence? Pity, mercy, judgement are all the same, and everyone feels that they're worthy enough to bestow their opinions. I don't want to care. Why should I? And if I don't care, why is that wrong?

The conference ended and people stood up as I walked away. I have two lives. Two circles which connect and overlap. I built those lives, and between them is myself. I'm a tiny intersection which gets swallowed up by either side unendingly. I speak of Jeevas and I think of L. There's someone I really did tear apart from the inside, and he condescended to do the same to me. I think of myself as a hateful and glorious thing. I love who I am, I hate what I am, and L makes me see this gulf of feeling more than anyone else. He exposes the fragility and he laughs at it. He dares me to use it or lose everything.

So, Stephen has permission to stay. I'm not immune to blackmail and possibly empty promises. I'm going to use it and exploit every opportunity to a sadistic extent, if I can. The Light of four years ago would have.

Tuesday arrives, and I'm outside L's house at ten, by which time I'd psyched myself into a cyclical frenzy. The photo remains an issue, and it's the photo which convinces me to go. I don't feel so pathetic about going when it's because of the photo. I worked until eleven last night so I can take a day away from the office. My secretary looked thrilled by the idea, but tells me that it's because she thinks that I need a break. Maybe I do look tired around the eyes, but I can't see it myself.

I stopped a few hundred yards from his house at just before nine to decide upon my attitude. This also changes and fluctuates. I was going to put the papers through the letterbox and leave at one point, because he'd hate that. He'd be offended, he wouldn't be able to understand and I'd be happy in that knowledge. I don't want him, it's only because of the photo. Stephen can stay because of the complete absence of fucks I give. In my head, the Light of four years ago is laughing at me.

Now, I'm on his doorstep again. I feel repentant even though I'm not. It takes him five minutes to answer the door, and when he does, he looks cooly surprised and glances at his watch. I'm still too early. I thought it would seem businesslike but he's obviously not seeing it that way. The Light of four years ago is throwing himself off a building and I'd quite like to join him.

L holds his hand out to me expectantly and I give him the envelope from my pocket. Again, he looks surprised. He doesn't say anything, only tears the envelope open and walks back inside his house, leaving me on the doorstep, looking in. I follow him inside and shut the door behind me, walking slowly past the furniture and pictures I know from another house, until I find him standing near his office, skimming through the papers.

"You won't mind if I read this through," he says without taking his eyes away from what he's reading. It's not a question, it's a demand and I don't reply. "You know where the kitchen is," he says, and walks into his office.

I go into the kitchen, just because he told me to, and it feels oppressively domestic. There are novelty tea towels and there's probably a 'kiss the ex-CIA agent' apron somewhere. I bet he wears a fucking apron. I drift around like a ghost, following a path I'm familiar with, and end up in the room with the drinks cabinet instead. It's more L-like in here. Stephen obviously thinks that the fireplace is a practical thing because it's all prepped for yet another roaring fire. It's a wonder that he hasn't put a sheepskin rug in front of it. I open the drinks cabinet to check for the smell of smoke. It's still there. It's permeated the wood. I'm still there. L's vodka is still behind  _Crimes Against Humanity_ , so I pour some into a tumbler and keep walking around because I don't feel comfortable sitting down. The lake is completely flat like a mirror, reflecting the sky back up at itself.

A few minutes later, L walks in, dropping the papers on the table. His ease only makes me feel more awkward. He looks at me quickly while he pours some tonic water into a tumbler.

"Reintroducing yourself to Hephaestion again, are you?" he asks. I look around me, because I don't now what the fuck he's talking about, only to find L's kouros standing next to me, all grave and marble-eyed. "I'm surprised. This appears to be the real deal," L continues, inclining his head towards the papers.

"It is," I say. I feel angry but it doesn't show itself in my voice.

"Married life not suiting you then, Light? And now with a kid on the way. I can only imagine the horror."

No, it doesn't suit me. It doesn't suit Kiyomi much better, but it suits our image. I don't answer and he quickly loses patience.

"No chat then? Straight to business? Is that still part of the deal? Yes? No? Come on."

He puts down his glass and starts pulling up his sweater as he walks, revealing a disappearing tan on his stomach, and all of my dislike for him disappears. I think of him strolling a beach in France on a blisteringly hot day, laughing in slow motion when Stephen splashes water on him and B playing 'J'taime Moi Non Plus' on a wind-up radio under a parasol. Fucking bastards. But anyway, I always liked his abs because he's deceptively athletic. He definitely shouldn't crowd himself with bulky sweaters. He could wear a clingy fine rib if he's suddenly feeling casual and cold. Something with a V-neck. Ralph Lauren, maybe. Grey.

He catches me staring at his midriff as I drink my vodka like a man looking in the windows of a knocking shop in Amsterdam, stops, and lets the sweater fall back.

"Well I can't do it alone," he says moodily. "A contract is between two people, not me and my hand."

"No, I... I just didn't know what to say."

"Oh. So, what do you want? The photo?"

"I'd like it if you deleted it."

"I backup my files. A lot. Especially the important ones. It might take some time," he mutters, but pulls out his phone for starters.

"It's ok. Whenever."

"So, did I have a bath for nothing or what? I was expecting to waste so much time in the fucking bath today."

His bad moods are something that can be easy formed into something else, but now it makes me close my eyes and rub my forehead with my fingertips soothingly. It's not enough, so I pull out my cigarette case.

"That's it. Light up, Light," he sighs, and throws himself into a battered armchair. Nothing in this place matches.

"You look funny when you're not in a suit," I smile at him.

"Funny?"

"Stupid."

"Do you want me to put Dior on?" he asks, all cold and efficient like I've asked him to dress up as a schoolgirl and it's absolutely no problem at all, it's just part of the job. He puts his hands on each armrest to pull himself up.

"Stop talking like that," I tell him quietly. He falls back into the chair and I turn towards the lake. There's no movement outside at all. It's like one of those fucking awful paint-by-numbers pictures that you see in old people's homes.

"Like what?"

"Like..."

"Like this is a business transaction? It is."

"It isn't. And I don't like you acting like this."

"How would you like me to act? You mean like back in the day, when I liked you? I could do that. I have a memory."

"I just want you to be yourself."

"I  _was_  being myself, but never mind. Look, I won't say that I haven't got all day, because I have, I've cleared my books. But I can find more interesting things to do than this; like scrubbing the bathroom floor. Are we doing this or what? I thought this was part of it. I thought that it was what you wanted."

"Not if you hate me," I say, blowing smoke against my dim reflection in the glass. Seeing myself makes me turn around to him again. "You don't have to come back. That's what I wanted to say. Not if you hate me."

"I don't hate you. Can I verbalise it?" he asks himself, looking up at the ceiling. "Let's see. I'm very angry with you. Yes. That'll do. Since I came back, I had a couple of blissfully uneventful months and then boom. You came back into it, determined to ruin my life. So, yes. I'm very angry with you."

"I only wanted you to..."

"You wanted me to be your casual fuck, let's be honest. Well, looks like you've managed it. Congratulations. I had no idea that I was such a prize."

"I don't."

"You don't? Oh! Has looming fatherhood changed your mind, like you said? Have you settled down to a lifetime of monogamy and respectability?"

"No."

"No. I thought not."

"I mean, no. I... missed you and -"

"My genitals?" he interrupts. The anger pools in my chest, quivering and building so quickly that I have no control over it.

"Don't make this so fucking difficult for me. Why do you always have to do that?"

"But you  _did_  miss my genitals? I have something Kiyomi doesn't have, obviously. But you're making full use of what she does have. I should count myself lucky. If I had what she has, I'd probably have three children by now," he says, picking up his drink again.

"L. You know that I... I couldn't make it clearer."

"Yes, Light. I know that you love me, or as close to it as you can manage, and I should be honoured and leap into your arms, but I did that two weeks ago and, by the way, that was very underhand. Jeevas in a pot. How could I resist?"

"The only time you like me is when I don't seem interested."

"Which says a lot about my state of mind, doesn't it? Don't worry, I have thought about it."

"But I do like you. I don't want you to do something you don't want to do because deals and contracts are easy for you."

"Really?!" he laughs in shock, and I sigh and push the pad of my hand against my eye. "Oh, yeah, this is all very easy for me. I often whore myself out to get my boyfriend, manfriend, partner, whatever in the country. I really have to stop doing it. It's becoming a bad habit. But give me a contract and it's all just  _fine_."

"I didn't mean that. I -"

"Can I just say something?"

"You interrupt me all the time anyway," I say and sulk. I'm allowed to sulk. I sit on his ridiculous recliner opposite him with Stephen's fucking papers on the table between us.

"You take long pauses between sentences and sometimes you don't finish them at all. It's annoying," he tells me. "I'd just like to say that it wasn't that you didn't seem interested, because you did seem interested. You're shit at chasing, Light, remember? You've never had to chase anyone before; everyone came to you. You chase goals, and they're relatively stationary and achievable. You don't need to chase people and, you poor idiot, I'm a really bad introduction, so you didn't do it very well. Your consternation at being replaced is overwhelming, because how can anyone replace you? I should be weeping into my sleeve for the rest of my life because of this fulfilling non-relationship that I've missed out on. It was because you were so desperate. Everything about you screams desperation."

"That's not true! You were all 'Noooo... Tell me it meant something!' and then with the fucking. That was you. I didn't force you; I just asked you to. And like I can be replaced by some man who makes Rive Gauche look badly made."

"I'm not getting involved in petty fights about who started what and when and whether Stephen looks nice in a suit or not. He does, for your information. But you're desperate, for whatever reason, and you're here for that reason, not the photo. You kissed my shoe. I almost felt sorry for asking. Not even a year ago, you would have laughed me out of the room if I'd tried that. You would have laughed me out of the room if I'd asked you to make me a coffee, never mind kiss my shoe."

"But -"

"But, let's see this as a deal between two contemptible people. We're used to deals, so we should feel right at _fucking_  home."

"I don't want a deal."

"You want me to wuv you? Well -"

"L, I know that you love me. You told me," I say. I see a bowl that I don't recognise and it's too much like a holiday souvenir to be L's, so I stub my cigarette into it. He's quiet for about ten seconds, during which his tone has become more thoughtful and patronising.

"What's sweet about you, Light, is that you're so naïve. I always liked it about you - your ideals. Most people go through this when they're still at school, but you happen to be over thirty and Prime Minister. You're yet to be broken by the system, so I did it instead, and yet you retain your hopeful innocence. It  _is_  quite sweet," he says, gazing into nowhere until he swallows his drink. "But you still think you know better than me. When I said jump, you should have jumped and high."

"I had to make my own decisions. I did everything right, apart from with you. I fucked up."

"Yes. You did," he nods, and I find myself gently nodding with him.

"I know that. I just want you to..."

"What? Finish a fucking sentence!"

"Like me," I breathe out. The Light of four years ago is shooting me in the head. I can't look at L, but I know that he's staring at me, and all I want is for him to say anything just to break the silence.

"Do you think that you can love a person without liking them?" he asks.

"Yes."

The leather of his chair creaks when he stands, and it makes me look up at him. He walks around the table and crouches in front of me. I feel tired suddenly, maybe because he's watching me so closely. I want to lean into his chest, like I used to, and he'd kiss the top of my head. Nothing ever seemed quite so bad then.

"When do you have to get back?"

"I don't. I mean, I don't think that anyone cares. No one cares about anything, really, apart from themselves. As long as I'm in work tomorrow."

"Oh. That's sad. You've made a very sad life for yourself," he says softly. He brushes his thumb just under my eye, but it's only for a second. His face hardens just as quickly, and he stands up again to walk towards the window, the lake and Hephaestion while he swipes his finger across his phone screen. "If you leave any time between now and three, you'll get back in forty-five minutes. It's quiet that time of day. She might not notice that you've gone."

"The guards will."

"The guards don't matter."

"That's what I thought," I smile at him.

"But you doubt yourself," he tells me, putting his phone back in his pocket. "Don't lose your purpose, Light. I made you for a reason."

"What are you talking about? You didn't..." I start to argue, but I stop.

"That's right, you should stop right there. We're not going to get along very well unless you recognise the debt of gratitude you owe me. A considerable debt."

"I know."

"But it doesn't mean anything to you. Not now. How's love treating you?"

"You're not treating me very well," I say accusingly.

"Do you know what I saw in you? I think that you should know."

"A storm coming."

"No. You were just someone who needed to be reined in and steered. I have a talent for spotting talent. Like Simon Cowell with better trousers. No one might see it or know that it's there, and it might not even  _be_  there at the start, but I always find it. I do whatever I have to do to find it, and you needed breaking, my friend. Looks like I still have my touch, because look at you; you're a bit too talented. You don't need me anymore. You probably would have got here without me, but maybe not. And we're all fallible after all, even you. The hint of affection, the promise of love until you're used to it and you rely on it. It's a very human weakness; this need to share. You knew that it's a weakness. All it does is bring pain and mistakes, and only a stupid person would put themselves through that, right? That's what you thought. No choice but to close down or you won't get  _anything_  done. Four years is a long time to work on someone, and you know that I always liked you. It's just the nature of the beast. I suppose that you have to love the thing you create. So, I guess that I won. You love me. Whoopdeedoo, I own you now. But you're hiding something from me still, and I will find out what it is. What made you think that to feel is to die? Maybe when I do find out, then I really will be done with you. God, I hope it's not boring, Light," he says, strangely tender again as he looks at me, but, again, it's fleeting. I can't take in what he's saying, but there's a grumble of hatred inside me because he's trying to take credit for me and what I've done. He scratches the inside of his wrist and looks bored already by this entire meeting and the sound of his own voice.

"A verbal contract will have to do. You'll say that you're writing a book. You have to work alone. You're going to buy that place in my name," he tells me, pointing in the direction of the house I'd rented. Shit, it was horrendously priced. It'll empty one of my savings accounts. Why can't he buy it himself? I just gave him eighty million yen two weeks ago. I'm probably doubling the value of his property. Bastard.

"You want me to buy you a house?"

"Yes. I wanted you to kiss my shoes, and you did it. Just like I want you to buy me that house and you're going to do that too. Tell everyone that you're renting it from me so that you have somewhere to work. Make sure that you tell them that that's where you go. Specifics ease suspicion. They won't check on you. But, that's just part of the problem, and it breeds another one. You  _will_  have to write a book. Some autobiographical shit, if you like, because you're full of that. I didn't have much trouble finding a publisher. This is the best offer," he says, and takes a folded piece of paper out of his trouser pocket, which he shoots over the short distance to me like it's paper plane. I unfold it and I can't say that the number isn't flattering. There'll be pressure on me to donate it to charity though. How will I get around that? Profits from sales? A percentage of the profits from sales. I'm distracted by this, and he probably hoped that I would be.

"You knew that I'd do what you wanted," I say.

"Of course you would. So, that's your reason for coming here sorted. Who knows how long this book will take to write. I'll tell Stephen that I've bought that place because, well, I like houses, I don't like neighbours. In the summer, that place will be fucking awful. Golden retrievers and children running around like it's a Disney film out there. I'll tell Stephen that we fought about it, you and me, because you knew that I wanted to buy it but you refused to stop renting it, but he's not to mention it to anyone and it's all ok now. I'll tell him I lied about us having a bang in the good old days and about you being homophobic. He knows that I tend to embellish things when I'm pissed off. It's a shame that he's been taken as a mascot by Naomi and Kiyomi, because it only adds another complication, but these things happen. I can't emphasise how important it is that Stephen doesn't know about this, Light. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Do you have any terms to add?"

"No."

"No? This is very much in my favour then, isn't it? I get a tiny house and everything."

"I told you that I don't want you to do this because of some bargain."

"You thought that I'd just scream 'Take me back!'? Pfff."

"No," I say firmly. "But this is -"

"What? Prostitution? Not really."

"I just want you to be with me because you want to be. This is too clinical."

"Dear little heart. Now, what else? I'm sure there's something. Oh! I'm not obligated to turn up on demand. I'll come over if it suits me. Is that less clinical for you? Get a new car. Dark windows. Only drive it when you're coming here. If the press see it so it's in the papers and then you're followed here then, fuck, we might as well just advertise it. Stephen knows that you drive that shitty gold Lexus."

"Bronze," I mumble.

"What?"

"My old Lexus was bronze. I have a new car now."

"Well, get another one. Think inconspicuous. Get a Honda Civic for all I care and hire a garage out-of-town or something. It's the secret mobile, ok? You'll park it in a lay-by like you're one of those mad rambling people in the forest, never leave it anywhere near the house. It's only until Stephen believes the story, maybe a month, and then you can ride a tricycle here if you want. It'll be my problem then, trying to find reasons to disappear. Christ, he needs a job. He has all kinds of secret agent shit in the spare room. I can handle him, just don't fuck this up because of your stupid vanity."

"I'm not stupid and I'm not vain either. You're preaching to the converted here, but I'm not vain and I'm not stupid and I'm not proud of this."

I feel completely drained. I want another drink and I want to switch all this off. L sits next to me and he does kiss my head but I don't feel any better.

"I know. I'm sorry. Come on now, I don't want a wet rag. I know you're a dirty little thing, and don't let love make you forget it. Remember why you didn't like me, I'm trying to show you. Do you even know why you do now?" he asks. I kiss him lightly on the mouth, not really hearing what he's saying. "Right. Deal?" he whispers. "Sure that you have nothing to add? Ok, let's go then. Stand up."

He pulls me to my feet but thankfully doesn't drag me after him like a kid with a teddy bear that's seen better days. I don't move, though he waits to see if I do before he comes back to me.

"Light, it was a dream, it wasn't real. You know that we're not like that."

How did he know that? I was thinking that it would be just like the dream; straight and boring in a boring setting with no props and that he'd laugh at me.

"How did you know that I was thinking of my dream?"

"I'm just clever, I guess."

"You're coming back to work?"

"We'll see. Let's say that this is a trial, because that's a whole other bunch of problems and things to explain to more people. You can send me some things, if you want. Unofficially. Oh, Light, you look like a child. Why won't you speak to me? Why won't you talk to me?"

"You talk enough for both of us."

"I talk but say nothing."

He leaves and doesn't wait for me this time. I'm expected to follow, but I stand there alone for a few minutes. Moving to another room seems too formal and awkward, but that's probably how he wants me to feel and I won't let him see that it bothers me. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I'm pale with... what? I think of the first time I fucked him. He looked at me and asked me if that was it. Was I done? I was horrified and deeply offended. It was impolite too, particularly since I had all but raved about him out of politeness. That's not how people are supposed to act. After that, I concentrated on him rather than myself. I'd just expected my presence to be enough, and people are supposed to take care of themselves, not be lazy and expect someone else to do it all for them. It had never been a problem before.

It's difficult to avoid looking at him when I walk into the bedroom, distracting myself with my tie and hanging my jacket on the back of a chair, hoping that the shoulders don't get distorted. He has the TV on a news channel, which is just another insult. I glance at him, and I can see that he's going to take a back seat for this one. He's lying on the bed, watching me, with a large flash of framed bright orange on the wall above his head. I fold my clothes and feel stupid for doing it. He always laughed at me and my fastidiousness, and his clothes were always in a heap on the floor and probably are now. I like to leave looking as I did when I arrive, but he never cared. I often thought that he was parading it, but no one ever knew that the creases in his clothes were there because of me.

I'm facing away from the source of the light which floods the room. One wall is plain glass without shame, and looks out over the lake. In another time, I would have asked him about it. Does this room really belong to the same man who wouldn't sleep without blackout curtains? Somehow it says more to me; about how changed he is. It says Stephen to me. Anxiety builds in my stomach and he says something about always prolonging the suffering and finding agony where there isn't any. I knock some splayed, discarded jeans off the chair, replacing them with my neat pile, and hear him laugh at my spite. He turns the TV off.

There's nothing nice about this. It's as close to signing a form at the bank as I can think of. There'll be no build-up. I never needed it, which he always took as a compliment, though he shouldn't have really, and he doesn't seem worried. He doesn't need anything, apparently. Nothing easing and slick, like he's not expecting any discomfort, but maybe he's dealt with that already. He just leans back and spread his legs for me. Fine, fine. Let's make this as unpleasant as humanly possible. I pull him towards me, his eyes widening, disgusted by how unceremoniously rough and emotionless I am as I press my fingers into the hollows of his knees. He doesn't make a sound and neither do I. We accept the situation. I decide to treat this mechanically and spare him nothing. He always liked it when he had something to counteract. My lips part when I enter him. It's not yielding like Kiyomi, since there's an element of force and brutality. He grips my arm as a reflex and I smile through my closed eyes.

His skin is like I remembered. I think of it soft, smooth, taut and tapered under a powdering of ash, backlit almost by creamy, barely tanned whiteness which I could hardly see, not like now in broad daylight and with that vast lake reflecting all the grey sunlight inside. I wish that there was a mirror so I could watch myself. Watch us. The veins are raised and swollen on my hand and arm like I'm tourniqueted by my tight hold on his hips. He's talking and won't stop talking. It comes out in interrupted exhaling breaths and sighs. I answer him in the same way, but incautiously, giving only the easiest of answers. I want to blank his words out, and I realise that I want him to be silent like a corpse or a convulsing thing in the throes of death, white and bloodless like he is.

"Did you miss me?"

"Yes," I breathe out, as rushed as his words are as I shove at him against the bedsheets. He blinks slowly with every push, pulling back from it and then rising towards me. He questions me like I'm on the stand. Like all his questions are burning him as he tries to fill a void of an answer to a larger question he's never asked.

"Are you in love with me?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I love you."

"Always slow," he smiles. As I look at him, my damp hair falls in my eyes and stings. My finger crushes next to a teal line under his skin.

"Are you jealous of Stephen. Light. Are you?"

"Yes."

"Do you hate him? Because he's done this to me, you know."

My mouth is dry and the loathing seizes and binds my throat and chest while he looks at me, thrilled and expectant. I hate him I hate him I hate him I grab the bones of his hips and drive into him so hard that it makes him cry out. I grin as his head is thrown back and his spine curves in pain. He never cries out. I always wanted him to but not if I'm hurting him. I say that I'm sorry and stop. I pull him towards me to kiss his cheekbone, leaving a trail of silver behind it. He turns to look into my eyes again and strokes my back with his thumb as he grinds against me.

"Don't say sorry, don't say sorry… Everyone's dead to me… Do you... Do you think that I compare you to him?"

"Shut up, L," I say raggedly and press my forehead against his. I feel his open mouth dragging over mine.

"Maybe I compare you to everyone I've ever had."

"Stop talking."

"This is shit, Light… Shit... It's just like your dream."

"Shut up!" I bellow at him, feeling my lips curl back from my teeth. I lean back again as I fuck him harder, but it's not enough for him. He twists his head to one side as he looks at me and groans, looking insane with hysteria.

"Limp and nothing!" he shouts back at me. "I feel nothing… I'm comparing you to Stephen  _right_  now."

I feel so angry I could kill him or anyone. His face is clammy and dewy with sweat, and looking much younger than he is, so I look at his chest instead like I'm apologising. He clutches at the backs of my thighs to pull me closer.

"Is this real, Light?" he asks me huskily, and I close my eyes and try to concentrate on the tightness instead and just that, like I used to. "Maybe it's not real."

"Shut up."

"Maybe it's all in your head… Because you're mad."

He's smiling at me and rasping words out like  _he's_  mad. His eyes are wide and liquid and shining with contained laughter. My chest heaves as I pull him towards me so the weight of being upright and with me fully and deep inside him wrenches a cry from him again. I just want to hear him scream and stop talking.

"Stop it," I tell him and try to kiss him.

"Why are you so fucking frightened!? You're not frightened," he hisses. "I made you what you are."

"You did not make me!"

"Wake the fuck up!" he screams right into my face so it rings in my ears. The hatred burns on my tongue and all through me. I throw him back down on the bed and thrust into him so savagely that he can't talk, he can't breathe, he can't see and I don't care if I'm hurting him. I strike into him as hard as I can. His heels dig into my back and I watch his face fall loose and cringe with every move I make. I feel no pity. I feel only anger and pleasure and cruelty, which is so intense that I think that's all I am. He opens his eyes only slightly and grips my hair with one hand.

"That's my boy," he sighs, like it's a dying breath, and with so much affection. I haven't seen that for so long that suddenly I want to come from that alone, but I can't lose this yet; I know what happens afterwards and I want to stay like this. On the table are my cufflinks with inlaid gold letter L's.

His smile is interrupted by moaning panting breaths. "I saw you at a funeral and I saw God," he tells me. I squeeze my eyes shut and point my face towards the ceiling while his muscles claw at me.

"Yes."

"Are you God?"

"I'm God."

"You're his mouthpiece… God speaks through you."

"Yes."

"But who made God?" he asks. His voice is so low and perfumed like musk. I want to fuck him blind. Until he'll never think or speak or move again, and neither will I.

"No one."

"There's always a beginning."

"God is eternal," I groan.

"There's no such thing… Who made God? Light? Who made God?"

"He made himself."

"No... Who made God?"

"You made me," I say and kiss the inside of his arm, which is wrapped behind my neck; the only part I can reach with my lips.

"Yes... I found you."

* * *

He stops talking and I lose time. There's no place for it. After we've seized, we slack and relax so quickly. I collapse on top of him while he strokes and pinches at my hair. I know he's just picking at strands and making spikes out of them with the sweat and who knows what on his fingers, only to smooth them down again. I press my face into an oceanic taste of the dipping flare between his throat and chest and listen to us breathing madly, trying to get air inside ourselves again to try and replace what we've lost.

"Are you ok?" he asks me, like it was a gentle and romantic moment shared in a tartan clad room. I think of his white neck arching against the pillow of almost equal whiteness. The blotches of red. Of him asking me if I was God.

"Absence makes the dick grow harder," I laugh back, just about. He slides away, so I roll onto my side to look up at him. He laughs until it passes into a smile.

"Oh, you're different now," he says, so faintly that it makes me ache.

"In what way?"

"I can just tell."

He's still struggling to breathe as he turns from me and stands to face the window. I can't imagine moving right now and I feel like I've failed because he's still able to move. I fight away thoughts that it  _was_  part of a deal and he just wanted it over with. That he did feel nothing. That it was just like my dream.

"Where are you going?"

"Fucking swans."

"What?"

"There are swans," he says, facing the lake. "They go and they come back to wake me up in the morning. I won't be long."

I think that maybe he's going to kill the swans, especially when he's gone for over ten minutes. He saw me at Aizawa's funeral and he saw God. I am God. I'm atrocious. I smile to myself and draw a sheet up to my chest to doze for I don't know how long, and I can't remember the last time I did that, especially at this time of day. When I eventually wake up, it's because of a shrill buzz from a phone. I open my eyes to see L rushing into an adjoining room, and then hear his voice, pausing and then speaking again in a low echo which bounds around him and through to me. I lie on my side, looking at the lake, and see a couple of the swans he mentioned. They just glide around. Life must be as boring for them as L's conversation sounds to me. I hear running water and think that he's having a piss, but unless he's developed prostate trouble, he must be running a bath. Like such a luxury is going to happen any time soon.

He's quiet for minutes at a time, occasionally droning in agreement to whatever's being said to him, or asking what the weather's like today. I feel so hypersensitive to the sound of his voice and everything about him, and this is what I wanted, I suppose, but then I remember what he said and how he acted, and I thought that he was mad. I feel strengthened from it, because I always thought that I was the mad one. I'd say things and make him angry and he'd slam me into the mattress, but this was the other way around. And it hurt; what he said. It hurt at the time and I just wanted him to be quiet or say other things. I wanted him to scream. But now's the time to reflect. I hate these moments. L called it 'la petite mort' once. When it had a name, I felt it all the time.

"Did she? That's nice. I should have bought her jewellery... It's not try hard with my credit card. Never... Two cakes, eh? See, if I'd known that then I would have stayed... Oh, nothing. Weather's shit. The swans are back, so I guess that I'll be up at five tomorrow again... Yeah... I don't know, I'll check. No, they're all there still. Were there seven last time?… Yes, there are still seven. I wish that you had your gun here. There might be a few less then. You'll have to teach me… Yes, I'm joking. I thought they were supposed to be in pairs, not a pack of them… Ahhh, no, no, don't tell me, I know this. Hold on, I'll look it up... No, I do know it. I've just forgotten."

He appears in the door and stops when I smile at him. I think that I curl and twist lazily on the bed in a winning way. If I saw me, I'd probably put the phone the hell down, but it only makes him stop for a second. He looks confused that I'm still here, or here and smiling. He just looks confused. With a phone pressed to his ear, he walks to his laptop by the window and searches for something while I watch him. It's kind of ridiculous watching a naked man who's looking at things on the internet.

"Oh, a lamentation of swans… No, I'm not sad; that's what it's called. That's the best name I found anyway," he tells the phone as he walks back into the other room. I make a 'humph' noise and look back at the swans. Stephen.

"Not bad, no… Well, I have some work to do here so it's not really a day off... I'm  _not_ slacking… What time is it over there?… And it's a day behind where you are… Or I'm a day ahead, yes. God, I bet you're pleased that you took time out for this exciting conversation… Do you?… Stephen, I'm sorry. For not being there... No, I just wanted to tell you. I'm glad that you're having a nice time though… It's ok, I know they didn't like me. It shows that they have very good taste… Ste -… Oh, well, I know  _that_. That's just obvious. If I send them my bank statements and property portfolio, do you think they'd like me then?… They don't, you're ignoring the truth again. No one's good enough for their little boy… Stop trying, it's ok! I'm used to it and I expected it. As I say, it shows good judgement. I'm going to let you go now, so… No, I'll call you tomorrow. It makes more sense because I don't know when I'll get back… No, no, I've got Mr Knife His Wife tomorrow, calling direct from the sunny confines of prison. He's got a bail appeal hearing next week... Are you kidding? He's one of the richest men in the country... Your flight's not back until ten is it?... Well, there you go... That's lovely, but you don't have to say goodnight to me; it's not even noon here. I'm not going to sleep but it sounds like you need to. Go to bed and I'll speak to you tomorrow… I might do. I might throw some of that gorgonzola into the lake and poison the swans, but I'll find something more exciting to talk about anyway… Are you saying that I'm boring?… Good. Yes, yes, bye."

The phone beeps in the bathroom and then it's quiet. He wanders back in and puts the phone in its cradle and stares at me, raising a nervous hand to his face. I want to tell him what a fantastic liar he is, because it has always fascinated me. Most people overcompensate, but L becomes so mundane that you wouldn't even suspect him even telling the slightest untruth, never mind that he has me in his bed. I used to think that it was despicable once, but then I saw it as an art form. He should host classes. But he looks serious and prosecutor-esque, and I don't care that he spoke to Stephen within half an hour of being with me, and that he lies, and that he's cruel.

"Come back here," I say. He climbs in next to me, all white flanks, and bites his thumbnail as he looks at me. I take in the strange angularity of his shoulder, the little rock pool at the base of the throat, the worry on his face which is framed by a crazy nest of hair. I pull his thumb away and kiss his mouth instead. "Don't feel guilty. I was here first," I whisper, but his eyes look even more dark as he sighs in frustration.

"Light, I'm not the North Pole."

"Ha! I'm only saying that you shouldn't feel guilty."

"You would say that."

"Yeah, I would. Ok. Feel guilty."

"Do you mind? I'm trying very hard to hate you."

"Oh, don't hate me," I smile at him and kiss the corner of his mouth. He flinches, and I think that once, when he said or hinted that he hated me, I'd get a hard-on. I move my lips across the the mild roughness of his cheek, feeling the muscles move beneath as he speaks.

"When you're nice to me, because it's so rare for you, it means more to me than if it comes from someone who's nice to me all the time. Is that or is that not fucked up?"

"I wasn't being nice."

"You were. Maybe you're turning into one of those  _nice_  people. What have I done to you, Light?" he asks. I stretch out my neck from side to side before I reply, still smiling.

"I don't know."

His lips part and my eyes flicker down to them. I wonder at the intimacy now, when not that long ago we were shouting at each other and he looked at me with incredible disdain. Now he looks at me with such precise evaluation that I feel self-conscious instead of proud.

"Still beautiful," he says at last. I laugh.

"The crows feet aren't ruining it for you then?"

" _I_  never said that you had crows feet."

"You did."

"No, I was relaying reports in the paper. You should have someone in PR knock that sort of thing on the head. It's very damaging."

"And which paper was this?"

"I really can't remember," he smiles at me.

"Strange that."

"But I can confirm that they're false reports, depending on how I feel about you at any given time. Right now, the country has no need to panic and the conventional among us can continue to admire and be envious."

"I don't think you know what you look like."

"Well, you told me that I looked like something out of a Tim Burton film, and that was quite complimentary for you."

"Ha. Y'know, I said things then that sound stupid now."

"Have I suddenly improved?"

"No, you've always been this way. I couldn't paint your face with words."

"Smiles and sonnets. Where are your smokes? In your jacket?" he asks, standing up again. For fuck's sake. He starts rummaging around and finds the case, but carries on going through the pockets.

"Why did you say those things?" I ask, propping myself up on my elbows.

"Where's your lighter? Oh. Never mind, I found it. God, this is fancy. Is it real gold?"

"Yes," I answer as he flips the lid of my lighter to burn the tip of a cigarette which hangs perilously in his mouth. He throws the case and lighter on the bed. He never smokes a cigarette which isn't someone else's. This is bad.

"L, why did you say those things?"

"Actually, I better check on the bath."

"No… that would be a waste of time."

"Oh, really? Are you planning a test of stamina?" he smirks from the doorway, veiled by smoke. I let myself fall back on the bed.

"Mmmm… just give me a minute and I'll be right back."

"Hah. Give me a shout when you're ready then," he says, and disappears from sight again. I grumble to myself as I kick my legs over the edge of the bed and follow him. He's crouching on white tiles at the side of a bath, sniffing from a bottle and then pouring whatever it is in the water.

"L, why did you say those things?" I ask again.

"There's a code of practice I adhere to and I expect others to do the same. What happens in the bedroom, stays in the bedroom. And now we're in the bathroom," he smiles at me.

"That's going to take a while to fill up," I say, walking up behind him to point at the bath.

"We should be civilised and have a cup of tea while we wait," he suggests. When he turns back to me, he finds me sitting on a bathmat on the floor behind him. "You're on the floor."

"Mmmhmmm."

"It's not a very comfortable surface."

"It's ok. You can sit on me. I'm a comfortable surface."

"My brain says 'cup of tea'. The arrangement says 'ok'."

"Tell your brain to fuck off," I say, and he smiles like I do. He runs his hand along my thigh, which makes a soft sound like air rushing past.

"You should sit on me, otherwise I'm not being a very considerate host, am I?"

* * *

I don't think that I've ever been so completely fucked, and still the pangs come at strange moments, like when L's bending over to look inside the oven. It's stupid that we're dressed and I'm sitting at his kitchen table. It's now five o'clock, and I haven't got any intention of leaving yet. I'll text Kiyomi and Head of my Security and tell them that I'm with L. It's not a lie. I just won't explain why. Kiyomi will be pleased because she's been saying that I need him back in PR. I needed to get Stephen his papers because she likes Stephen.

So, there we were on the rug in the bathroom. He tasted of ash and smoke and he said that he wanted to show me something. Well, he was naked, I was sitting in his lap and I've seen everything before anyway, so I didn't take much notice. But then he told me to calm down, or, in his words: "Fucking hell, Light, calm down!" I listened to him then. He told me to stop, which is murder, really; that's not what you want to hear, but, fuck, thank God he did it. Apparently you can keep that shit going for hours, although he said that after four hours, something might drop off.

"Can I show you something? I would have done it before but… Fucking hell, Light, calm down."

"What is it?"

"Stop. Ah. No, stop. Just stay... What do you feel?... It's denial... You should feel this, Light. You should feel this... Stop... I forgot what you felt like."

"This is... Wooo. Ok... Why didn't you do this before?"

"You can't do this with just anyone."

"I made you bleed."

"Yes."

"And Jeevas."

"Jeevas."

* * *

I get home at ten. All the way home I think of his face when he stood at the door and I was on his doorstep. I think he knows now. I think he's sure. I wanted to see him tomorrow and he played coy with his supple back under that sweater. I didn't mind if he wore a sweater, did I? No, I didn't mind. I want one too, just like his. I want to wear his clothes - God, I'm such a mess.

Everything I feared might happen has happened. Now I think that if he was around as often as possible – back in PR all day, every day and I knew he was there – then I wouldn't be such an idiot. But no one could say that it has affected my work. I feel dreamlike, foggy, like I haven't slept enough. I smile a lot and I think that it frightens people. No one smiles here because it's supposed to be serious, and if you smile then you're not serious enough. At twelve, I'm out of the building (my new office is nearly ready. It took longer to get planning permission than it did to build the fucking thing), then I'm out, in my car and gone. Infiniti tried to give me a car for advertising purposes - official endorsement, something like that - but I took an LF-LC. I've stayed with Lexus; I always have. I'm very friendly with the CEO and it's another prototype. They've been awarded 'manufacturer of the decade' and their concept range is lightweight carbon fibre and a full hybrid system unique to Lexus, featuring an efficient cycle combustion engine and a twin 12.3 inch LCD navigation display and I don't really care at the moment. It's black.

I've been to L's firm headquarters exactly once and for exactly two minutes. No one knew who I was then, and no one asked if I wanted a coffee. Now, as soon as I walk in, there are two suits walking beside me being overly friendly, and a woman in a pencil skirt brings me coffee whether I want it or not, like she was expecting me. I tell them that I've come to see L. This is where it changes. They look concerned and one suit asks if I have an appointment. L sparks terror in his subordinates and they'd rather upset the Prime Minister of the country than him. I'm guided towards some kind of VIP lounge, but I don't stay there long because I have to be back at my desk in one hour. I'm followed as I climb the stairs, like I'm an invader and they don't quite know what to do. I spot Mihael on the seventh floor and the world collapses around him. Wherever he goes, I always turn up and ask him where L is.

"Mihael, where's L?"

He points, bewildered, towards a glass door. I recognise L's secretary from his numerous descriptions. She really does look like an emu.

"Lawliet, please," I say simply.

"He's... errr..."

"Don't make me wait. I've had enough of that."

And in that succinct remark, I confess everything I've hated about my life so far, to a stranger. A stranger who looks like an emu.

"Sorry. He's on the phone," she says, pointing at a red light on a black breeze block on her desk. I smile and she melts into a thousand starstruck drops.

"Tell him I'll wait."

After taking a seat opposite her desk, I look at the ceiling, flicking my finger up my neck and off my chin over and over like a clock counting the seconds. I glance towards her again and feel myself go cold, since she's still just staring out at me with her mouth open. It shocks her into walking towards yet another frosted glass door. She knocks timidly, L's voice booms out a "WHAT?" and my balls feel like granite. I will see fucking satisfaction again.

"It's... um. The Prime Minister's here to see you," she tells him meekly from the door. I don't hear his reply, but she turns to me, shocked that I'm already standing in anticipation. "Let me show you in, Prime Minister."

He's in Dior. God.

"Prime Minister," he says.

"Lawliet-san."

"Can I help you?"

"I need a lawyer," I say breathlessly, as if the run up seven flights of stairs has just caught up with me.

"Oh."

"Or a barrister."

"I'm a barrister. Thank you, Chiyo." His secretary disappears on command but he's still looking at me with a phone in his hand. I walk towards him. Fuck, this is a big office. "Is it urgent," he asks.

"Very."

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Yes, I'm in a lot of trouble."

"What kind of trouble are we talking about?" He's wearing a silver Hermes heavy silk tie. The one with the logos. You can't get that tie anymore - it was limited edition. It's too formal to wear to work but... oomph.

"Homicide," I tell him.

"That's a coincidence. I specialise in homicide."

"Will you take on my case?"

"Who have you murdered?"

"I don't know yet, I haven't decided."

"At least you'll be prepared. I always admire forethought in a person."

"I just need representation. I need it very badly."

His mouth is immediately glued to mine. I force my way in with an insistent tongue and moan with contentment. That tie is a fantastic thing. The weave all twisted in my hand is beautiful. Then he pushes me back.

"Oh  _shit_ , I'm on the phone!" he gasps, lifts the phone to his ear and walks into another room. "Hi, sorry about that. Yes. Yes, I can do Friday but it'll have to be in the afternoon -"

I sit down and lean right back until all the blood rushes to my head instead of somewhere else. A few minutes later L reappears the door and I smile at him upside down.

"Hello," I say.

"You're here."

"It's my lunch. When's yours?"

"I'll take it now!" he exclaims with wide eyes.

"Brilliant."

"No, wait, I can't take it now," he says and walks around me, so I sit up to see him as gravity intended him to be seen. "You can't just turn up like this."

"You've been turning up at my office whenever you feel like it for years."

"Yes, but that's me."

That's it. I really have had enough now. I stand up and he looks terrified.

"I've come here for you, Mr Lawliet," I tell him slowly.

"Jesus, don't talk like that. I have a phone meeting with a client in a minute."

"Postpone."

"I can't postpone. He's allowed one phone call a day at half twelve and that's it."

"How is that my problem?"

"It's not. It's mine."

"You're making it my problem."

"You're going to sit there," he tells me forcefully, but not without a degree of panic. "Sit!"

"Why?" I ask, walking towards him again. He backs away but at some point he's going to hit a wall.

"So I can talk to you like you're a human being," he says.

"Because you don't do that normally?"

"No. You're becoming a sex object to me. I don't want to objectify you."

"Fuck's sake, objectify me."

"No!" he shouts, pointing back at the chair which I've left way behind me.

"Really. I want you to. Go right ahead and knock yourself out."

"Stay right there!"

"And knock me out while you're at it."

"I'm a professional!"

"So am I."

"You're not. You're a wanton slut, that's what you are."

"I can be both."

"No, you're in the wrong industry!"

The phone rings and we both launch for it, but he gets it first. He sits in his chair behind his desk and I kneel between his legs while he listens to someone who sounds like they're ranting at him. I take his shoe off, pull down his sock (Pringle of Scotland 100% cashmere and they fit perfectly around his ankles like a second skin - good man) and kiss his foot. He takes a sharp intake of breath and my lips curve into a smug smile.

"Wow," he says. "No, sorry. I was talking to myself about my coffee."

"Remember when I did this? Remember when I kissed your shoe?" I whisper. He looks at me unblinking and frozen as he talks into the phone.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Do you remember when I licked Jeevas off the back of my hand like he was lime after a bad tequila, and then I kissed you?"

"Oh, sorry. It's a bad line. Who's been pissing in your orange juice?" he says to the phone, agitatedly swallowing.

"I bit your tongue and sucked the blood."

"Well that's not very nice, is it? We'll mention it at the hearing."

I run the palm of my hand up the zip in his trousers, feeling a little bored. "I don't mind if I'm objectified. I'm used to it. I don't mind as long as you're the one doing the objectifying."

Some danger warning must be triggered when I lean forward, because he stands up again suddenly and walks into that other fucking room, closing the door. I think that he locks it, so I crack my neck to one side and consider the pitfalls of being an object on a lunch break. A few minutes later I hear the click of the lock and he comes back inside, stony faced and resolute.

"We need to go over terms," he says.

"Do we?"

"They're very relaxed as it is and you're taking up a lot of my time."

"Like I used to?"

"Yes. But worse."

"Come back to work."

"No."

"You said that you would."

"Not yet. It's too early. What about the trial? We agreed upon a trial."

"Trial's over. I want you to see my new office as soon as possible."

"You have a new office?"

"It's very special."

"Light, you have to go."

"It's artistic."

"When Stephen's back tomorrow, this has to cut back by a lot. A 100% cut. I'm very angry with you."

"Are you!?" I gasp. That's excellent news. Only good things come from that.

"Yes, but not in that way. As far as Stephen's concerned, I'm very angry with you. We have to become friendly again slowly."

"I think we messed that bit up."

"No, for Stephen, when he comes back. I'm a liar and you're not bad at it. Don't underestimate him or anyone else, because that's when mistakes happen. I'm getting him a gun license while he's away, now that he's staying. If he gets hold of a gun, I don't want to think what he'd do with it if he suspected anything."

"I'd love for him to shoot me," I gasp again. My face feels open with the desire and horror.

"He might shoot me instead. Honestly, he's quite scary sometimes."

"He could shoot both of us!"

"Light..."

"Really. Imagine it. Some pap would get in and take a photo and we'd be in the paper. Blood everywhere. They'd have to prise us apart at the morgue. God, imagine it."

"I think you imagine too many things."

"You're so far away."

"Yes, and I'm staying that way. You have to leave."

"Why?"

"Because I'm working."

My sigh seems to come from deep within me and every part of me is in agreement that this is disappointing. I'm running out of time and this is disappointing.

"I was going to ask you out for dinner," I say, dusting down my trousers as I stand. "Lunch and dinner. But dinner might actually involve food."

"I..."

"If it helps, I could invite some other people."

"Like your wife?" he asks.

"No, she won't leave the house after dark. Her ankles swell up and she can't wear heels."

"So she can't leave the house?"

"She just doesn't want to. She watches a series about pageant queen toddlers instead."

"Oh."

"I could invite Sayu and Touta."

"Shit, no."

"And Mikami and Naomi. I think they're being seen in public together now. Her husband's been dead for two weeks."

"But Naomi and Stephen are -"

"We're only having a friendly dinner," I interrupt him. "It's perfectly innocent."

"I know."

"But if you don't get invasive under the table then I'll be very upset."

"Ok."

"Please invade my personal space."

"Don't come any closer!" he shouts, lifting his palm up to me like he's directing traffic. "I'm very intent on working and keeping my trousers on."

"You don't have to take them off. I can work around them."

"No. No. You're not going anywhere near me and my trousers. You're the Prime Minister. Get back to work and ministrate in a primely way."

"But you  _will_  have dinner later?"

"If you're paying."

"I don't have to pay. They feed me for free at The Blue Note."

"The Blue Note?"

"It's in Minato."

"I know where it is. But they have jazz," he says. God, he's right. And it's bad jazz. L knows that I hate it. I've tried to like jazz, I really have. It's thought of as being an executive's hobby to have an appreciation for senseless noises that sound like someone filling up a dishwasher.

"It's a price we have to pay," I sigh. "We'll go to Kozue then."

"They're closed on Wednesdays."

" _Fuck_ , so they are. Aronia de Takazawa's? They'll shift reservations for me."

"I don't care where we go."

"The Blue Note then. I'll pick you up from here at five."

"You don't finish work until half five."

"Six then."

"Seven."

"Fine. L, you should see my new car. Properly."

I sound stupidly eager and teenage, although when I was a teenager, I was as serious and exacting as he is now. Actually, I couldn't have given a shit about this stuff. He walks towards me, but closes some files and books on the desk as he talks to me.

"I'm sure that I will one day, but I'll meet you there."

"I could just pick you up, it's easier and then you could have a -"

"I'll meet you there if I feel like it or I won't go at all," he breaks in. "Those are the terms."

"You  _will_  be there though. I just want to understand you."

"But to be understood would make me dead," he smiles in return. My eyes kiss his face as we look at each other. I wish The Arcadia Room hadn't closed down, but it was shit.

* * *

He hasn't turned up at the restaurant. I've sat through jazz and conversation for nothing. I was going to take him to another table and talk about my tax bill with him, to see what he thought. I might listen to him, even if his opinion is different from mine. I probably wouldn't take any notice, but I'd listen. We could talk about my plans for changing the judicial system and I could rub his leg while I'm at it, but he doesn't turn up, and I'm left with Naomi and Mikami and Sayu and Touta – two couples that don't mix well. My meal tastes like woodchips. I think of visiting my parents, except that my mother would talk about babies. It's hard to catch them individually now that Dad's retired, and of course I'm far too busy being married and guardsman of the country, so I don't see them often. I could take Dad to the lake one day. I wonder if he likes fishing.

My coffee has just arrived and I get a text message from L. He says that I have to do something about cleaning Tokyo's alleyways. He's gone mad again. No,  _he_  must be in an alleyway. I'm going to check some alleyways and see how dirty they are and do something about it. I'll mention it in The House, maybe. I must investigate this dreadful problem. Thank God that L brought my attention to it. I must thank him.

I make my excuses and wet my mouth with a gulp of coffee before I leave. Even though they haven't spoken to me much, since Sayu's talking about IVF, they all look devastated to lose the one connection they have in common. I don't give a fuck.

There are two alleyways either side of the restaurant and one is indeed very dirty, but there's no L, only a cat which winds between my legs. The other alleyway is just as dirty and dark as the last one, and I trip over empty boxes and things I can't see. I hear water dripping down the walls and I think it likely that I'll be mugged very soon. But why would I be caught dead in a place like this? Gossip would run about how I was looking for trade or something, which wouldn't be entirely inaccurate, but still. Suddenly, a bright light shines in my eyes. It's lowered, and after I've recovered from the blindness, I see L standing behind some waste containers, drinking something through a straw.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing," he says, graciously taking a breaking from sucking noisily. "Fancy seeing you here."

"An alleyway? Why didn't you just come inside?"

"It's too early to start socialising. Do you want to finish my milkshake? It's the finest from McDonald's."

He holds the cardboard heart attack out to me so that I scowl at it and what's around us by the light from the torch on his key fob.

"You take me to such nice places," I sigh.

"This is the natural habitat of the depraved," he explains, looking pretty depraved.

"Oh? Let's have a look around then."

"There's not much to see apart from me."

"Let's have a look at you then."

"That's a different suit. You weren't wearing that before." He points at me. Yes, now you mention it.

"This is what Rive Gauche _should_  look like," I say snidely, turning my phone on to have a closer look at my surroundings. It's not very pleasant. I hear a sharp thump and turn back to see that L has smacked himself in the centre of his chest, pressing his hand there like he's been winded or has some kind of acid reflux.

"Oooh, right in the heart," he says. His teeth catch the light from my phone as he smiles, and I walk towards him, shrugging my shoulders at how inadequate Stephen is compared to me and how I was born for suits like this.

"You should have come inside. I wanted to talk to you about work," I tell him. He throws his drink into one of the containers and it rolls in an echo. He doesn't look like he's heard me. "L, I wanted to talk to you."

And, no, we can't seem to be within arm's reach of each other without something violent happening. I'm immediately and uncomfortably wedged against the container. My mouth feels ravaged, and I'm sorry, but it will just have to fucking put up with it. Pressed against him, I feel myself slowly rising and thinking back to when I was indifferent - although I still am in most respects - but indifferent when people were talking to me while obviously imagining what I'd look like on their bed sheets. I used temptation and insinuations and gestures, rewarding them only when they had delivered something I wanted, or the promise of it, at least. It had only failed once, when I was too impulsive and caved in too early. I never got what was promised to me, but I was introduced to someone who did give it to me, so it all worked out in the end. It's not as complicated in that way with women, because they're different. Some would call them stupid, and honestly, a lot of men do, but women  _are_  just different. They can't help but see a future, while men, when we're in a position of dominance, don't. We see a fuck, possibly another, but usually we only see one. We see it how it is.

So this is all going on and I almost forget that my YSL suit is against some dirty old piece of plastic, when L murmurs in my mouth that he wants me to turn around. I pretend that I didn't hear him for several reasons; the main one being that I'll do a lot of things, but this place is disgusting. I'm thinking of his car. It's a four seater. Then I think that Kiyomi might know. She's very intuitive and the thought wouldn't be inconceivable to her., and I don't know how she'd react now. Her self-esteem would be injured and she'd probably go ballistic. She wouldn't think that I'm groping L in alleyways, but some girl, maybe - one of my secretaries - and that would be very unfair because I haven't done that for years. Her mother already planted the seed of suspicion in her. I'm not to be trusted.

He tells me to turn around again but I just make an amused humming sound as I kiss him. No, no, no.

"Turn Around."

I don't say no, I tell him through my eyes and he sees it. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like the disobedience. No, I won't be used here in a filthy alley surrounded by waste. This is so below me. It's so below me.

But his eyes are persistently demanding. Kiyomi's eyes reflect the light in pinprick stars and ask for nothing, only hide dreams. His are like black velvet and strangely matte most of the time, but reveal everything to me now, and he wants me to turn around. I deny him as if my body itself is refusing, so he forces me to turn and presses close against me, moulding his form to mine. He shifts around, YSL is treated very disrespectfully, and a shock of discomfort and then painful, rigid arousal shoots through me, up my back, gripping me as firmly as his arms do. I feel sick and my head hangs forward until he lifts it so I'm made to face straight ahead until I feel like he's holding me up entirely. He speaks into my ear, repeatedly telling me to open my eyes. I do, and my teeth are locked together as I see the tunnel of darkness end in a small rectangle of steady streetlights colouring the passers-by and the cars and the moments of their time. I involuntarily tense around him as he forces himself into me, which is a bad mistake and I'll regret it later. I cry out weakly, but he keeps my head facing the miniature of life in front of us.

"Look at them," he says. "They're yours."

"I don't want them," I tell him. My voice barely audible, but he hears me. He kisses my neck and moans against it, dull against my skin. I grip the edge of the container in front of me with one straight arm.

"Don't lose your empathy, Light. It's all you have."


	7. I Had To Kneecap My Friends Just To Keep Up

My secretary tells me that L's outside. I know he's outside; I can see him. Now installed in my new office, I can see everything outside, but they can't see me. Essentially, it's a glass case. It's soundproof, bulletproof, probably bombproof. In short, I am intact. From the outside, it's mirrored. I'm trying to keep as many people from seeing the inside as I possibly can, and my secretaries have been told to keep their mouths firmly shut. I don't want everyone to know, because then they'll be on their best behaviour in my department. It's not that I want to spy on them, because I really have better things to do with my time. No, it's because it's symbolic. If the milling around distracts me, I can pull a cord and the walls go black for me. It's what I do if anyone has an appointment with me here. However, the novelty of living in a glass box hasn't lost its shine yet.

I tell my secretary that I'm busy. I am. I'm writing bullet points. She tells him and I watch them like a silent film, since they  _are_  silent from here and they're tinted in monochrome through the glass. I wanted it that way. I expect one of them to be chased around the room by a gorilla or to throw a piano out of the window, but it doesn't happen. I'm surprised that he sits down like he's willing to wait. Back to my bullet points.

After ten minutes, I tell my secretary to send him in. I am now calmly furious and I have been for a few days. It's been brewing nicely. I think that I'm done.

The silent film is losing its comic appeal and is quickly becoming boring and serious. L drags himself towards the door, the secretary opens it and my fingers do a polka on the keyboard. I look from the keys to the screen and frown. Back space.

"Ooooh. This is a very open kind of office," he says as the secretary closes the door behind him. Even the door is the same glass. I am entombed and I've never been happier in an office. "Special glass?" he asks. I glance up quickly to see him tapping the glass with his knuckle. Of course it's special glass, you idiot.

"What do you want?"

"Just checking that you're still alive." I don't know why he's so fucking happy, and he obviously doesn't know why I'm not interested in him. Apart from one moment, I haven't looked away from my screen and I'm not going to. The indents on my bullet points have gone to hell. "Are you ok?"

"I don't know, L."

"Have you had a bad day?"

"I've had a bad year. Why have you come here? I thought you said that it was too soon for you to be seen in the Kantei." Spacebar. "Who the fuck let you in?"

"You  _are_  in a bad mood today. You didn't call me. I thought that we were meeting on Saturday but you didn't let me know where and when. Are you ignoring my messages? I'm not supposed to text you, you're supposed to text me."

Oh, the superiority.

"How's Stephen?" I ask, blandly cheerful. New paragraph.

"Tired. He doesn't do flights very well. Why?"

"I hope that he feels better soon. I'm very busy right now, so if you don't mind."

"Whuuu... What's wrong with you? Light? Light, stop it."

He's in front of my desk and he's blocking my light from the window. That's very inconsiderate. Scroll fucking lock! What is with this program?

"I've been thinking." Sniff. "I realised that you've treated me like I was less than dirt, and that I was letting you."

"Oh. You noticed that," he says. I bet that he's smiling.

"Do you really hate me that much?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Blue Note." Cmd + Z.

"What about it?"

I breathe out and a laugh is on it.

"You can stop it with your high and mighty lord and master attitude, thank you," I say. I tap the down arrow loudly a few times.

"What's wrong?"

" _You_  are very wrong in the head."

"And that's coming from you."

"You went too far."

"Are you annoyed because it was an unhygienic setting? Did you have to have your suit dry cleaned?"

"I'm 'annoyed' because I didn't want to and you made me do it anyway."

"Don't be dramatic. Of course you wanted to. It's why you asked me to meet you and don't pretend that it wasn't," he sighs. Why doesn't he just sit down? He's still completely blocking my light, so I turn on my desk lamp to compensate. Intensive work at the office can lead to tired eyes. Fixation on a computer screen causes a dramatically slower blink frequency, therefore the precorneal film is not renewed as often and it evaporates. As a consequence, the eyes don't get lubricated enough, causing them to feel tired and stressed. Heavy computer work usually reduces the blink frequency from about twenty two to about seven times per minute. This problem is known as Office Eye Syndrome. Regular breaks are the answer, but I don't want to take a break, so good lighting is key to ease stress. He's blocking my light and stressing my eyes.

"You were sadistic," I tell him. "I don't want to say the other word I'm thinking of."

"You like sadistic. I didn't hear you complain at the time."

"Oh yeah! It was _Brokeback_  fucking  _Mountain_."

"Retrospective anger is your speciality. Well, I'm sorry, I suppose. You should have said," he mutters casually. Dick.

"It fucking hurt," I say, emphasising each word with the importance they deserve.

"I know. It must have."

"So, you..." I should insert a file in here. Maybe a graph. "You actually wanted to hurt me?"

"No. Well, yeah. You didn't exactly go easy on me."

"You are a cunt."

"You love it really. You know, Light, you're so up your own arse that you just want someone to take over and treat you in the opposite way to how you think you should be treated."

"Of course! God. I was just asking for it, wasn't I?"

"It wasn't like that."

"It was."

"I wanted to see if you'd let me. I told you that I wanted you to debase yourself."

"Because it would prove something to you?"

"Yeah."

"I see. Well, I've done enough debasing and I hope that you enjoyed it. Consider me debased. You were like Astbury."

"I'm not like him," he says, quiet with shock that I could make such a comparison or that I brought him up at all. I'm dying to see the expression which accompanies this, but I can't find the fucking graph.

"I'm telling you that you were," I reply.

"Did I really hurt you?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"I want us to be how we used to be. Not hate fucks everywhere." Blink.

"Light..."

"And I don't think you  _are_  who you used to be. You'd never do something like that, so I think that you must really hate me." I stop to have a sip of Perrier. It's still the best. Swallow. "I thought that I wanted that once."

"I'm sorry. I am. I can't... I can't talk to you when you're staring at a computer, Light."

"We've both done shitty things to each other. But I don't want that anymore."

"Ok."

"We're equal or we're nothing. You didn't make me. I worked to get where I am."

"But -"

"L, you can either agree or not, but I'll tell you now, if you don't agree then you can walk out that door and I'll watch you go. I'll just always be sad thinking of what you turned into, because you were something when I knew you."

"You made me this way," he says accusingly. I'd love to see his face because it must be exquisite right now, but there's the file. I think that red columns look too angry. And they're very red. They should be blue.

"In that case, Stephen hasn't worked his magic and made you into a better person, has he. You're worse than you used to be. You can't blame other people for who you are and how you act, which, just so you know, is like a complete cunt. But I've already told you that."

"You're right. I think that I wanted you to hate me."

"L, I'm still wearing your cufflinks," I tell him. I look up, just for a moment, but I didn't intend to. He looks appropriately upset and mangled. I let that sink in and then go back to my graph. "I could never hate you."

"This is difficult for me. This whole thing. Light, look at me, please. This isn't easy."

"I won't let you treat me like that."

"I know."

"I'm not your personal stress ball."

"I was just angry with you."

"I'm angry with  _you_ and I have been for a long time, but I've never hit you and I've never treated you like that. You've done both those things to me, even before you came back. Honestly, L, you've turned into a cruel bastard. I feel like you're laughing at me all the time." I look up at him and my finger is tapping agitatedly above the 'up' arrow of the keyboard. It wants another job to do. I give it one. Save. "I was wondering how long it'd take before you got the handcuffs out. Why did you do it?"

"Because I'm a fucking idiot."

"You're not though. You're not an idiot. That's why I don't understand."

"Light, I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

"My terms are that there are no terms. Do you agree?"

"Yes."

"And you don't hurt me. I don't hurt you."

"But you do hurt me," he whispers. Oh. All he needs to do is to start crying now for the grand finale. Why does he always revert back to acting like a kid whose pet rabbit has just died? He's incapable of accepting responsibility.

"I don't mean to. If you're hurt by the decisions I've made, I can't do anything about that now. You'll just have to get over it. Don't take your shit out on me." Blink.

My left hand is shaking slightly where it rests on the edge of the keyboard. I look at it like it doesn't belong to me. L walks around my desk, even though I didn't give him permission to, crouches on the floor at my side and his hand reaches across me to turn me around. I didn't give him permission to do that either. Kneeling at my feet always had a strange effect on me and he probably knows it. Once I'm facing him, I look out the window behind him instead. My eyes are due for a break.

"Maybe we should talk about things."

"Yeah, let's call B and we'll have a therapy session."

"Ha. If B knew... Light, I am sorry," he says. It sounds as honest as anything he's ever said. He sounds like he did after he came back to apologise for being a drunken, violent, lying shitstain. I can accept apologies. I never forget, but I'll accept apologies if they're apologetic enough. He puts his hand on my knee and I look at the top of his head, since he's looking down at the floor between his legs. The contrition. Shiny black hair.

"Just stop pretending," I tell him. "Why are you here?"

"For you."

"Did you miss me?"

"Yes."

"And you're sorry. You love me and you're sorry."

"Yes."

"That's all I wanted to know."

I lean forward and clasp him, bringing him to me. This all reminds me of when I was signing my candidacy papers. I was so thankful to him. I loved him. I told him and he didn't believe me. His fingers dig into my jacket and it's all too prolonged. I feel like I should have done this when he was leaving or when he came back, because maybe everything would have been different then. I pull away from him and he seems reluctant to let me, but he does. He takes moments like this like they're from a whole host of other people who are accepting him and his apologies.

"You better go now," I say, turning back towards the computer. "We'll talk tomorrow."

"Can I help you with anything? Since I'm here."

"I thought that you had a bail hearing. Did you get another murderer out on the streets again?"

"Light," he sighs sadly. Cmd + up arrow. Proofread.

"Why do you do that? Just for the hell of it? I know that it's not for the money."

"He's under house arrest."

"You know, when you come back you can't take on any more of these defence cases just because you can. You know PR. The government does not endorse murder and neither do I."

"Everyone has a right to representation..." he breaks off and then sighs again like I've taken away his favourite toy. "I'll pass him on to someone else."

"Thank you."

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"I can pick you up after work. I'll be working until late though. I'll text you."

"Oh, in your new car?" he says. I know that he's smiling. He's trying to make me smile. He's trying to humour me with excitement over my new love affair with my car. Save again. You can't save too many times. I turn back towards him.

"Yeah."

He puts his arms around my waist until his hands snake under my jacket and around my back. I always unbutton my jacket when I intend to sit down for any length of time. You should do every time you sit down, really. Like you should pull up your trouser legs. It's to avoid creasing, warping and unnecessary strain on the fabric, seams and buttonholes, especially when they're hand-sewn like mine are, because they're a work of art in themselves. Each of these buttonholes take twenty minutes to complete because of how they're worked. There are two at the front closure and three on each cuff, which are working buttonholes, not a sham cuff. It dates from a time when manual labourers needed to roll up their sleeves. This suit says 'hard worker.' Each stitch has been done by hand. No one fucking knows this.

"Stephen or me?" I ask him. He doesn't reply, he just presses his face into my stomach. I've opened my legs for him. "L."

He turns his face to one side, perhaps so I can appreciate the guilt and pain it causes him from his profile. He squeezes his eyes shut.

"You."

I place my hand on the back of his head to let him know that I'm pleased with his answer. It was delivered properly and with the right level of respect. He opens his eyes and they dart from side to side at what they see. He must see the endless stream of people outside getting in and out of the elevator.

"This is weird," he says.

"You'll get used to it."

"No, I don't think I will."

"There's a space outside - I've marked it on the ground but the fucking cleaners keep getting rid of it - but if you stand in that spot, you can't see this at all. It reflects from this other mirror by the elevator. So, in that place, we don't exist," I tell him, like I'm telling a story to a child. I stroke his hair and stare into space, images fly past my eyes but I see nothing. "You know that people watch me all the time. It's existential."

* * *

I'm woken by Kiyomi. I'm lying on the opposite side to how I was when I fell asleep, I think. She asks me if I'm asleep, which I would think was fucking obvious, but really she just wants to wake me up in a polite way. She turns on the lamp on my bedside table to make sure that she's got the job done. I am now awake. My clock tells me that it's half past twelve. My phone is ninety-nine percent charged.

She sits on the edge of the bed, one leg folded under the other, which hangs. One arm crosses her body towards me and pushes her breasts together under a wide, round, low black neckline. She looks so fawn-like and docile that I almost wish I could take a photo without her knowing. A photo in black and white.

"I can't sleep," she says despondently.

"I'm very tired," I reply. My voice is scratchy and I try not to cough to clear it.

"But I can't sleep."

"I have to be up at five. I have to see this new library at nine and I have a meeting before then."

"Where?"

"To-Oh."

"Can I go with you?"

"Yeah."

She smiles for a second, then looks thoughtful as she strokes a square of my bedsheet flat between me and her.

"I just wanted you to know that it's ok. If you're... disgusted by me. I understand," she mumbles. Oh  _God_.

"I'm not. Don't be stupid."

"You don't touch me," she says, and pauses for a while like she's expecting me to say something. "But it's ok. I don't feel like it really. I was just worried about you a little."

"I'm fine. Could you turn that lamp off? It's shining right in my eyes," I tell her. She reaches over to turn it off and then sits back the way she was.

"I had a check up today. The ankle thing, it's um, it's because I have high blood pressure and my kidneys aren't working properly, he said."

I try not to roll my eyes at this, not that she could see me do it. Why is nothing simple? There are pregnant women in poor countries who walk five miles each way to get water with seven babies strapped to their backs. Kiyomi does nothing but she has high blood pressure, and she's not even at the half-way mark.

"Well... what's he going to do about it?" I ask.

"Nothing. I'll have to put up with it."

"What's causing it?"

"Light," she sighs, like the cause is obvious. I know that, but why? Just for a bit of added drama?

"Yeah, but that's not normal."

"It points to something further down the line. I can't pronounce it. I've got it written down somewhere."

"Kiyomi, why can't you find out details?"

"He said that it wasn't anything to worry about."

"I'll speak to him tomorrow."

"You'll make me look like an idiot!" she nearly shouts. She's very sensitive to being patronised, or appearing to be incapable of doing things for herself. Anyone else could ask him, but I shouldn't. It's patronising.

"No I won't. We should know what's going on."

"I'm staying here. Budge up," she demands. She shifts me over and I think that she's still in one of her cotton jersey day dresses. She covers us over with the sheet again and pushes her face under my jaw. I'm never going to sleep like this.

"You should spend more time with Naomi and less time with your mother," I say.

"Yeah."

"She's a shitstirrer. She makes you like this."

"Go back to sleep, Light."

"Cunt."

"Light," she snaps, then calms down and tightens her arm around me. She's like a straitjacket. "I'm going to see Stephen on Monday anyway. He gave me a book before he went away. It's called  _Healing the Child Within._ "

"Bleeugh."

"He's so nice, but a bit of a bitch. He's funny. Hey, I was thinking, we should have dinner parties."

"Are we that old already?"

"Just while I'm like this and then we'll stop."

"I don't know. When I've finished work, the last thing I want is to have dinner with a bunch of cretins."

"Just Teru and Naomi. Stephen and Lawliet, maybe."

"If you want."

"I want."

"Ok then. Just stop with the clingy."

She murmurs something incomprehensible in reply and then she's quiet. I was lying on my side in the darkness like this when his arm circled my waist and drew me towards him. Whenever he wakes up in the night, his hands always reach for and hook around my waist. It used to annoy me.

And so I'm monogamous again. I wondered if Kiyomi was giving me permission to go elsewhere, but if she had, I think that it would have come with a warning which she need not give. Choose wisely, be careful, don't bring me any trouble.

* * *

I draw up outside L's firm at seven. He's not supposed to work that late, but I said that I was busy until then. I could have got here earlier but it's good for him to know that I wasn't playing around with him yesterday. The To-Oh tour didn't take as long as expected because there was still work going on, thanks to incompetent builders who can't stick to deadlines, so a lot of the library was still cornered off. I heard all about it from the principal. She was very weepy about it. It was very untidy and I'm sure that they could have done something about that. Books stacked on the floor and sawdust everywhere. Kiyomi and I looked perfect, like we'd been moved from a window in a high-end department store and dumped there instead. She based her outfit around my suit and I think that we looked pretty formidable. That's what Kiyomi said. I kept thinking that I shouldn't even be there. My Head of Education has broken his leg, but he could get a wheelchair. I'm a very busy person.

The window on the passenger side is wound down as I pull over, so I hear L talking to some another suit as they stand by the entrance. L smiles when he sees me through the open window.

"Oh, here's my ride," he tells the suit.

"What the fuck is that?" the suit says, walking alongside L towards my car.

"It's the Prime Minister in a... what the fuck  _is_  that?" He leans in at the window. "Light, what's this car?"

"It's a Lexus LF-LC," I say proudly.

"I don't know it," he confesses, looking like he can't get over this fact. He buys car periodicals like other people buy skin magazines. I don't know why he didn't take notice of it when it was parked outside his house. He must have been preoccupied by being a moody, self-righteous, domineering bastard.

"It's a prototype. The shell is lightweight carbon fibre and it has a full hybrid system featuring an efficient cycle combustion engine and a twin 12.3 inch LCD navigation display and -"

"It's brutal," he interrupts me, still impressed and surprised like I've just got my cock out. I'm definitely in here. Not with chance, but I'm in with a certain fuck here.

"Yes."

"It's kind of sexy."

"Yes," I smile.

"It's a Lexus LF-LC," he says, turning to the suit, then he dashes off to the front of the car. "Fuck me, look at the grill!"

"Hi, Prime Minister!" the suit says, replacing L at the window. "I'm -"

"He doesn't care who you are, Satou," L tells him, walking back, perving all over my car. He points at it again. "Look at the vent!"

"The wheels!" the suit replies.

"It's the fucking Batmobile!"

This got boring very quickly. For a moment there, I thought that it would be interesting to hear his opinion. My car represents me. It was a well-informed choice which I made after copious research. It says: 'Don't touch me. I'm very expensive.' I didn't think it said: 'I read comics.'

"L, get in the car."

"I'm getting a lift from Batman!" he gasps at the suit, ignoring me.

"You're so lucky," the suit sighs enviously as they gaze as each other in consternation at L's good luck. "What's the interior like?

"I'll let you know. I'll take photos," L assures him. He gets in the car. The engine's still running and once he's shut the door, my foot is prepped and I'm ready to fucking go, but the suit leans in on the window sill. I think of winding the window up, trapping his suit in the car and driving off, dragging him along like a banner from an advertising plane until his feet wear down to stumps. Terrible accident. Didn't notice that he was there.

"See you!" he says. Go then! Get the fuck off my car! "And don't worry about the case, L."

"I'd forgotten about that." The instant change in mood and tone in L is awe-inspiring. He hasn't mentioned a case, probably because he knows that I got tired of them years ago. They're all the same.

"Someone will have to update your wikipedia page," the suit laughs.

"Fuck off," L tells him and presses a button which, thankfully, is to wind up the window. The suit steps back. I take off. It's only then that I realise that I have no idea where I'm going.

"How was your day, darling?" I ask him sarcastically, running through destinations in my mind.

"A shitstorm," he replies as he straps on his seatbelt. He's in an incredibly black mood suddenly. The kind which has left him stunned with how shit his day actually was.

"Good. And, thank you for asking, mine was soul-destroyingly boring  _but_  I have some news."

"Oh?"

"Kiyomi doesn't want to have sex with me anymore. It's fantastic news," I say, shaking my head with it all.

"Oh."

"We need to get Stephen pregnant. Then he might not want to have sex with you either."

"Yes. Good idea."

"What's wrong?"

"I lost a case today," he mumbles quietly. That's unusual. That's unheard of.

"That's not like you. What happened? Didn't you turn up?"

"Yes, I was… I was there. I was just shit."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"It is true. I was shit. I was shit and I lost a case," he says, dumfounded and staring into the void of his life.

"Well, you can't expect to win every -"

"No, you don't understand. I have a one-hundred percent success rate. I don't lose."

"I'm sorry, L. Could I get you some… ice cream? And a spoon? Just a tub of ice cream and a spoon?"

"I must be ill," he says breathily, staring at the dashboard. "God, Light. What if I'm dying?"

"You're not dying," I laugh.

"I don't understand it."

"Forget about it now. I'm taking you to the Kantei, but first we're going to find a lay-by or something."

"Amomaxia?" he asks, turning to me. "In the Batmobile?"

"I don't know what amomaxia is exactly, but yes. I'm in a very good mood."

"There's somewhere by that nature reserve. Turn right. Right, Light, right, not left, you fucking moronic GQ model, do you still have trouble putting your shoes on in the morning?!" he shouts, then huffs to himself. "A client of mine got busted there once. The police turn a blind eye now."

"Oooh!" I say, happy to have a destination. I get into the right lane. What L doesn't realise yet is that most drivers have to indicate before they turn off, not just swerve wherever they want.

"I don't know why they bother. It's tiny but you could build at least four houses on it. Like any endangered species are going to turn up here in one of the most built-up places on earth. It is, however, very useful for dogging activities. But why are we going to the Kantei? I thought we were having dinner."

"We are. After the Kantei. It won't take long."

"I think you're full of badness," he smiles at me mischievously, though I try to keep my eyes on the road for the most part.

"It depends on your perspective," I grin at the road. Nature reserve, hello!

"What was I thinking, having my head turned by some ageing Japanese Justin Bieber?"

"Repeat that."

"No, I'm scared of you," he says, cowering back against his chair. "You misheard me. Whatever you thought you heard, you misheard me."

"That's it. I'm pulling over."

"Oh, crumbs. Have mercy."

I pull over and the handbrake's on, my seatbelt's off, my jacket's off and we're outside a nature reserve at seven at night. I turn in my seat to face him and he does the same.

"Mr Lawliet, I hate your clothes."

"Your hair is so stupid, Prime Minister."

"Is it?" I ask throatily.

"Mmmmm…"

"Ok. Prepare yourself for a disciplinary."

While I try to deal with the issue of his legs and trousers, I see how I should have taken this sort of thing into consideration when choosing a car.

"I've racked up quite a few of those in my time," he says, taking off his jacket with difficulty. "By rights, I should have been sacked ten times over. I was just lucky to have such an lenient boss. What have I done this time?"

"You've insulted the Prime Minister's hair and it's a criminal offence. Take your seat belt off."

"Why? It's unsafe. We should always be safe," he rasps, taking his seatbelt off. It's stretched out to shit.

"I want to see if two six-foot men can have a disciplinary in a coupé _._ "

"It'll be just like that scene in _Titanic_."

"It really won't."

"Draw me like one of your French girls."

"You've lost me, but that's ok. I think you'll have to put this leg on the dashboard."

"From experience, I know that this is possible in a BMW coupé because they're wider and umf… But I would say that we need more room to manoeuvre in this thing."

"No, you're very bendy."

"My hips are hypermobile."

"You know, I did wonder. God, you're full of surprises," I say in admiration, and then I kiss him. Or he kisses me. I don't know, I lose track. Oh!  _My_  trousers! Can't do much with them around. I'm so pleased that I haven't banned tinted windows.

"I think that if you gave me a shot of morphine first, you could bend my legs right around to face the other way," L breathes out excitedly.

"That's only as a last resort," I reply like a soldier going on a mission. "But it's good to know." I have lube. I missed lube. Condoms are ok for avoiding bad things happening to suits and upholstery, in this instance. I forgot those. Oh dear. Never mind!

"Haaaa."

"What?'

"I'm happy," he says, sounding a bit sad about it actually.

"Sayu's got a cat called Happy," I tell him, just for something to say. It's the first thing that I think of. Fucking awful name. Fucking awful cat. It's definitely not happy.

"That's stupid. Really?"

"Yes."

"Are you a happy cat?" he asks, arching up to me. What the fuck? Oh, whatever.

"Erm."

"I did miss you. I missed you for nearly a year."

"Come back to work," I say into his throat.

"No."

"PR's shit without you."

"I'm sure it is, but from a PR point of view, re-employing me would look very suspicious. I'd look indispensable. You'd look weak and useless. Both of those things might be true, but do you really want everyone to know that?"

"Did I ask for your opinion? No. Now, I'm really sorry if your head hits the door a few times but it's for your own good."

"The handbrake's between my legs."

"I'm sorry about that too. Let me worry about that."

"But I really don't think it's a good idea for us to work together now," he muses. I draw away from him and he looks like something that you  _would_  expect to find in a nature reserve.

"L?"

"Yeah?"

"Nod your head. Nod. Your. Head. Done. You start on Monday, welcome back. We'll sign contracts at the Kantei after this."

"No."

"Yes. Shit. This really isn't working, is it?"

"It's too small. You have a small car," he says sadly.

"I'd open the door but I don't think that it'd make much difference and it'd be drafty and we might get attacked by some woodland creature or a dog walker."

"A lot of horror films start this way. Oh. Light. You have to stop wearing these," he says softly, pinching my cuffs. He must mean the cufflinks because he can't mean the shirt.

"Are they suspicious from a PR point of view?" I laugh and decide that maybe his legs would be better slung over my shoulders. Never fails. I'm going to do that. Maybe I  _should_ take my shirt off?

"No, but they cost about two yen from a market stall," he tells me. "I got them for you as a joke because I didn't like you very much."

"I thought that they were gold." I did. He's rich. They look gold. Gold and black enamel. Am I wearing cheap cufflinks?

"They're as gold as a piece of cardboard. Why do you wear them?"

"I like them."

"Because I bought them for you," he smiles stupidly

"No, because they have my initial on them," I say. "And you bought them for me," I add, also a bit stupidly.

"L is my letter."

"Mmmm… Right, I'm going to put my jacket on the handbrake and we'll try this again. Now, this jacket. Don't let this put you off, but should I hand-wash it myself before I send it to be dry cleaned? Common sense and the label say no. Actually, they don't say anything about it, but you know about this stuff. Is that a good idea?"

"Damage limitation, yes," he nods in all seriousness. "Think of Bill Clinton."

"I'm not making the same mistake. You're not going to pull a Monica on me one day, are you? Ok. Brace yourself, Monica."

"Hold on, I'm not an experiment like you're trying to find out how many people you can fit in a Mini Cooper!"

"We're doing this for the sake of science."

"Light, before you bang my head against the door, I just want to say that I love you. I always have. Now go ahead and dislocate my hips."

* * *

Kiyomi arranged a dinner party at the Kantei on Sunday because she won't go to restaurants in fear of being photographed. Stephen's ecstatic about his immigration papers and L told him that I had some hand in it, that he'd got it all wrong and overreacted, I'm a really great man, a good friend, L lied about everything and we've spoken about him coming back to PR. Stephen is all for it. Hmmm... Anyway, he starts tomorrow and Stephen is still all for it.

Naomi and Mikami arrive early and L and Stephen arrive late, so the schedule got fucked and the meal will be delayed. The greens were overcooked, so the chef told me. 'That's fine. Start from scratch,' I said. There was a lot of mindless talk while we waited, and I aged about thirty years. It's easier to be pleasant to Stephen now. He's still a twat, but I'm getting my own back, so being nice to him is just another private joke to me. L had clearly just washed his hair. It was still wet and scraped back so you could see the grooves from the comb in it like tilled earth.

I said that while we were waiting, we should have a talk about PR and the finer points of his contract so he can start the next day, as planned. So we went. I had him in my bathroom, partly to erase what I thought had happened once in the same place. I made it very different. He was on the edge of the sink, leaning back at an acute angle with his head against the mirror and his legs were tight around my waist like a beautiful belt. I think that I stopped breathing at one point. It upset me that I couldn't kiss the redness from his face afterwards. We had to wait until it died down and he plunged his head in and out of a sink full of cold water. He combed his hair again, and then we went back and had a meal with Kiyomi, Stephen, Naomi and Mikami. Nobody noticed. Nobody suspected. It was very civilised.

I realised, not for the first time, that I don't speak to him as much lately. We used to talk all the time, but now it's just stolen moments and boiled down, condensed fucks full of fury whenever and wherever. I'm sure that we'll get better at this, especially when he comes back to the Kantei, but I blame it on Kiyomi and Stephen. We rarely have more than an hour together at one time, so we don't talk, and it's their fault.

* * *

On Wednesday, It's Naomi and Mikami's turn to feed our horrible group. I see the reason. It's because Penber's going to be featured on a documentary. He's only going to be on for a few minutes but Naomi was interviewed for it and she's very pleased that he's getting some recognition, albeit posthumously, which is no fucking good to anyone.

Everything's timed so that we're at a loss when the programme starts. Naomi, Mikami and Kiyomi sit on a sofa directly in front of the TV, Naomi gripping Mikami's hand and smiling. I stand against the wall behind everyone. I haven't seen L as much as I thought that I would at the Kantei since he came back. He and Mihael have been holed up in their office since Monday, and when I came in to welcome him back, I was told that PR is in an awful fucking state. They'll be there until the end of time. I haven't seen him since then. Now he's with Stephen at the table and they're muttering to each other. They're not interested in Penber. Stephen kisses him just as the narrator mentions Penber's name and L pats him on the arm. I just feel cold.

"There he is!" Naomi says loudly so that we all look at the screen.

Penber. I don't listen to his words. I know his words like I'd written them myself. It's strange to hear someone speak from their heart, especially in politics. Penber always did. Kiyomi never met him, so all she can contribute is that he was very good-looking. He was never on her radar, because the unfairness was that he wasn't ever on anyone's radar. He was considered a vocal radical who leaned too far to the left, but was very popular with his constituents and was always a safe seat. He was rewarded with Head of Culture, which he didn't care about and neither did anyone else. He knew that he'd be there forever. He agreed with the opposition on occasion, sometimes with our policies, but mostly he agreed with no one entirely. There was always something that wasn't quite right and could be improved. I was his aide, he supported my campaign when I ran. He told me to keep my thoughts to myself, to become Mikami's deputy instead of sticking with him, because I would get nowhere then. People judge you depending upon who you ally yourself with.

I get tired of seeing Penber alive and dead, the drone from the narrator, Naomi looking proud and sad while sitting next to a lampshade with a photo of Penber on a table behind her. I go into the kitchen instead. A few minutes later, Naomi comes in.

"Are you ok?" she asks.

"Yeah! Have I missed it?"

"Yeah, his part's finished."

"I was just wondering where you hide the coffee," I say, looking despairingly at shelves full of things that look like they should be in an art and design museum, not a kitchen. She pulls out a jar which doesn't look like a jar. Instant. God.

"So. Babies," she says, and scrubs her sleeves against a spot on the worktop.

"Hmmm..."

"Still a bit shocked?"

"Why would I be shocked? It was planned like an invasion of a country."

"I heard. Big thing though."

"Kiyomi's not the best advert for glowing Mother Nature," I say. The kettle rumbles.

"Ha. No, she's struggling."

"She's bought Ugg boots and things with elasticated waists."

"It'll be worth it in the end. Hey, are you ok about Teru?"

"Why shouldn't I be? Whatever makes you happy."

"I feel bad about it," she admits wistfully. She feels bad about everything, but she always does it anyway.

"Why? Oh. Well, you know, it happens. No one would blame you."

"You know when you feel like you're making mistake after mistake?"

"Yes."

"Teru doesn't feel like a mistake," she says. She looks at me and smiles guiltily. I smile back and then look for a useable cup.

"Good. It's good that he's pulled himself together."

"He was very unhappy. I didn't know. Did you?"

"Men don't talk about things like that, Naomi."

"No, you don't do you. Did you see Raye? Funny to see him like that. I have loads of films and stuff, but I couldn't even see a photo of him for a long time. Teru had one framed for me. Isn't that... he's so lovely. He just did it."

"I don't have one," I mutter.

"What? A photo? I'll give you one. You should have said!" She rushes to a cupboard, ploughs through it, and pulls out an envelope of photos. Then she flips through those.

"No, it's ok," I tell her.

"Shut up. I have one of you and him from when you won your seat," she says, walking back to me. "Here. Look at his face. He was so proud of you."

She holds out a photo and stands close to my side so we can both look at Penber's face together. I can practically feel  _her_  face beaming with pride as she looks at him, and I feel nothing, I think. I feel, maybe for the first time, that I'm a failure. I don't know what that feels like, but I imagine that this is the closest thing to it. I work, but I don't feel like my heart is anywhere near it and it never was really. I just wanted to change things. I think of L all the time and I have done for most of the last year, at least. At least a year. I'm bored by my job, I find myself trying to think of ways to avoid it. I married Kiyomi, now she's having my child and it was all for work. I followed my plan without thinking that perhaps I shouldn't. I was determined, as I should have been. Penber would have wanted me to be. I wanted to make a difference. All the things I've done, yet I've done nothing at all. No, he wouldn't be proud of me.

"Thanks," I mutter, taking the photo from her.

"I just wanted to say that it was a good thing you did. The tax evasion thing. It made me think of Raye. I mean, when you two used to talk about things like that. Big companies squeezing out the smaller guys with false ethics and cheap prices. He'd still be so proud of you, Light."

"Penber?"

"Why are you calling him that? He was never Penber to you." She stares at me like she doesn't know me anymore. I look back at the photo.

"Naomi?"

"Yeah?"

"What was he doing before? Before…"

"He died?"

"Yes."

"I don't know, he didn't tell me. I didn't notice. I was thinking of the wedding too much to think about him, I guess. I was stupid. He said that he couldn't talk about it."

"But he was looking into something?" I ask. The kettle rattles and switches itself off. Naomi reaches for it and starts pouring water into something which looks like a large pottery ice cube.

"I think so. He had files, but the police took them away. Took his whole desk away. I never got it back."

"His work desk? That would have contained sensitive files. They had no right to take it away. When did this happen?"

"The day he died. I don't know. When I came back to get some things a week later, it looked like the place had been turned over. There was a lot of stuff missing. They said it was an interrupted burglary at first, remember? I found out later. Our neighbour told me that they saw the police taking things from the house. Probably for fingerprinting."

"But you should have got them back. Naomi, you should have told me."

"I didn't really care, Light. Raye had just died," she says, and spoons some coffee into a mug with porcelain antlers sticking out of it. "I didn't care about his desk. I tried to look into it but they wouldn't talk to me."

"I'm sorry. It's just…"

"Light. Don't."

"What?"

"Don't look for answers. Let it go. You can't. I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you. You have to think of your family now. You know what Raye would say if he was here."

"Leave it alone," I answer.

"Yeah."

"But he didn't."

"And look where it got him. Look where it got me. Just do good things," she smiles weakly and touches my arm.

"He'd also tell me not to be so fucking selfish and that some things are more important. Find the truth. Sacrifice yourself to the cause." I sound angry and that makes me feel angry. I break my eyes away from hers while I put the photo in my pocket.

"He wouldn't say that, Light. You know that."

I don't know what he'd say. He might have said both those things. I look away from her towards the door and see L standing there. I feel myself glare at him for interrupting a conversation, or for not making himself known, and he dips his head in apology like he knows what I'm thinking.

"Sorry," he says. "I sensed the presence of coffee."

"I'll do it," I tell him, turning back to what I came in here to do. Antler mugs.

"What an honour," I hear him say behind me. "Black, please. With..."

"Three sugars, I know."

Naomi pushes the half-made coffee towards me, takes a tray of tea and kisses me on the cheek. My hand twitches but I just grip the handle of the kettle more firmly.

"Quite a heartwarming little reunion there. I didn't know you were so close," L says once Naomi's gone. He sounds near. I feel him so strongly in the room like I'm not even in it at all.

"You know what Naomi's like. Were you listening?"

"Maybe a little bit." He kisses the back of my neck. "Hidden depths."

"No."

"You should listen to her."

"What about?"

"Leave it alone."

He takes the coffee and leaves. I don't even hear him go, I just know that he has. I'm left standing there and I stay like that for a few more minutes. I don't feel like coffee then; I just want to go home on my own. I take the cooling coffee Naomi made for me.

"I like that flowering tea," Kiyomi says as I take a seat next to her. I've walked in on some dull conversation again and it all sounds hollow in my ears. Kiyomi smiles at me and then purses her lips to blow at her tea. I look up and L catches my eye unintentionally, as he often does, and he looks worried, but then he smiles and drinks his coffee from that mug with fucking antlers sticking out of it. His fingers are awkwardly contorted around them. What a useless thing.

"I have some of that. Do you want some?" Naomi asks.

"No, Naomi! Don't be silly," Kiyomi answers. "This is fine. I was just thinking that I haven't had any for a while. Not since that tea place in Kyoto. Remember, Light?"

"Yeah. Geisha everywhere," I say.

"The maiko danced for us."

"OH!" Naomi exclaims.

"Light fell asleep."

"Oh."

"I didn't fall asleep," I add gruffly. "It was a long day."

"I haven't been to Kyoto for months. Didn't you live there once, Lawliet?" Naomi asks.

"Not for long," he says. "Geisha aren't my thing and they really are everywhere. Once you get stuck behind one on a narrow street when they're in those shoes of theirs, they lose that theme park attraction appeal."

Naomi doesn't much appreciate this and wants to steer the conversation towards something which is less offensive to Japanese culture.

"Stephen, tell Kiyomi the story about how you two met."

"God, don't," L sighs, but Stephen jumps right in.

"Ha. This is funny. I was interviewing his client."

"Sorry," L says through a gulp of coffee. "I don't want to be a part of this, but I have to say that he was interrogating my client. Interrogating is the correct term."

"You're killing the story," Stephen tells him moodily. "So, I'm interviewing. Just standard interview, you know, but L started bitching at me."

"I didn't!"

"Like a bitch. I was unprofessional and my interviewing techniques were shit and bordering on illegal, why didn't I just waterboard his client and be done with it? That kind of thing."

"And I was on call. It wasn't even my case. Woken up at 3 in the morning by the man's lawyer, who was pissed, crying down the phone at me about just  _how_  pissed he was and this guy was being held and needed someone there with him, he's so sorry, please don't sack him. Obviously I did the next day. He was on his third warning anyway."

"And that was how we met," Stephen smiles. I imagine L's mug smashed into his face. Say, as if I smashed it into his face. The antlers would gouge out his eyes. Everyone would be running around screaming and saying: 'Stephen! Stephen! Talk to me!" Mikami would be on the phone. L would wink at me. 'Thank you, Light. I love you. I always have. You always do the right thing,' he'd say.

"No, that's the abridged version," Naomi pouts.

"Sterilised," L smiles into his mug.

"Well, his client was released without charge," Stephen elaborates, though I'm sure none of us need or want it, apart from Naomi, who is frequently an idiot, "and I caught L outside and he looked like... he looked like..."

"It was the middle of the fucking night, Stephen," L cuts in. I'm sure that we would have been treated to a few more of Stephen's repetitions otherwise. I know what L looks like at three in the morning. He's not at his best.

"And I thought: 'Have a go at this one,'" Stephen carries on, ignoring him. Have a fucking go?! "The worst thing that could happen is that it turns out he's straight. So I did. Didn't get anywhere. He just gave me this dead fish stare, y'know? He went, and the next morning I found out which law firm he worked for, went there, found him. He's never told me if he felt sorry for me, but he said that he was going to see a movie that night and I took it as an invite."

"This is the worst story ever," L says. I don't think that he's ever been more right. "I mean, I was there and it's still boring. Throw a car chase in there or something. Jesus, Stephen."

"It's not boring! He's just found out where you work and, oh! This is so romantic!" Naomi coos. Oh God.

"I'm going for a wizz," L states. The mug's on the table. Stephen's face is right there. Maybe some accident could happen while L's away?

"And miss the story? Are you embarrassed?" Stephen smirks up at him. Just like Jeevas. He's just like Jeevas.

"No, I need a piss."

"He's embarrassed," Stephen informs us all as L leaves. "So, I went to this place and waited by the popcorn and he didn't turn up. I was angry as hell, so I waited another ten minutes and then I called him. He said that he was in the bar over the road. I went over there and I'm all ready to tell him what I think of him, which wasn't much, but he just started telling me about his day and how some politician he worked with had been killed in a hit and run and how it couldn't have happened to a nicer person. I'm like: 'You know the movie's started?' And he said that, yeah, he did. It's only worth seeing the last fifteen minutes. He'd seen it before. So then he asks about  _my_  day and..."

And there's where I excuse myself. I leave the photo on the table and pull out my lighter so I don't need to explain where I'm going and why, even though I'm just not interested and I wouldn't hesitate to tell anyone who asked. I thought that I might be interested, but as a storyteller, he's shit. I wonder if he does have a talent.

I wander outside and L's hanging around the hallway, standing next to a flower made of notes of money under a glass cloche.

"Not interested in the story?" he asks.

"He doesn't tell them very well."

"Where was he up to?"

"I don't know. Something about a bar and the last fifteen minutes."

"Oh! Well, I'll summarise. The punchline is that it was this 60s film. No one's ever heard of it because it's really bad. I mean, literally nothing happens for nearly three hours. The only reason it isn't completely forgotten to the sands of time is because of the last ten, fifteen minutes. I go over there and buy a ticket. Massive surreal Salvador Dali orgy with about thirty people. It's pretty hardcore, actually. Unexpected arthouse at the end, like it's a present for anyone who's sat through the rest of the film. So, we go in, that happens, I haven't even bothered taking my coat off. Film finishes and he can't speak. He's a bit zombie-like. Like, 'Why did you do this to me, you pervert? I'm a well-brought up, wholesome boy!' sort of thing. It was quite funny. Obviously he wasn't  _that_  wholesome. I go back to the bar and he follows me. I don't know why he did. I thought it would scare him off."

"Did you want it to?"

"Maybe. Anyway, he grew on me."

"Like cancer."

"Like you did. Only you're malignant, as B says," he laughs quietly and lifts up the glass cover of the money flower. I walk over to him.

"You liked me from the start."

"I wouldn't say that."

"Keep your Thursdays free from now on."

"The whole day? Can't do that."

"No," I laugh. "I can't, actually. Erm..."

"Half-day?" he suggests.

"Yeah. We could do that. Meet me in my office at half-twelve."

"Should I bring a packed lunch? We could have a sexy picnic on your floor. I'll bring a blanket," he says. I smile and rub under my bottom lip slowly. My head feels so full of shit. "We better go back inside."

"And catch the next thrilling instalment."

"Should be finished now. Even he can't string it out that long."

He kisses my cheek as he walks past me, and once again I'm left alone staring at something stupid. The money flower. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I want one. I follow L back inside after enough time has passed to clear any suspicion, and catch Stephen whining to a close about something so exciting that I think I might die.

"… said that my hotel was shit. He said that you could tell how seriously the CIA were taking the investigation if they put their agents in cheap hotels."

"Oh no!" Kiyomi laughs and claps her hands together.

"So he showed me his place and I ended up staying."

"Aw."

"It's a nice place," he nods.

"Got it for a song," L comments. "It's worth double what I paid for it."

"Do you still own your old house?" I ask, sitting down. He looks surprised that I'm speaking to him in front of people like this.

"Yeah. I'm renting it out."

"I liked that house."

"So you keep telling me. You can buy from me if you want? Very reasonable terms."

"Ha. When I've retired."

"Wait a minute. If I'm going to be living there, I should see it," Kiyomi interjects.

"I don't think I'd actually live there," I say.

"Do you have fond memories of it, Light?" L asks me, a bit too affectionately really, but I smile at him anyway. He turns to Stephen. "We used to play tennis there sometimes."

"I just liked it," I admit quietly.

"And I thought L's name was L for the longest time," Stephen tells us. Well, yes, because that is his name. He's an idiot. Just like Jeevas. Always bringing the conversation back to himself. L laughs.

"As in E.L.L.E. Had it in his phone and everything. I'd changed sex and I didn't notice."

"I thought it was one of those ironic names."

"Right. Is it liqueur time?" Mikami asks, and stands. He looks bored shitless. He might as well have been asleep the whole night for all the use he's been. He hasn't adjusted to being my aide since he's too used to ordering me about, not the other way around. He finds it difficult to speak to me or in my presence because of this conflict, I think. I must get him back on side. I can't afford for him to feel ostracised.

"You're not having liqueur," Naomi commands him. It must be some agreement they've come to. He clicks his tongue in annoyance and sits back down to silence again. "This is so nice. All of us together," Naomi says to us all.

"We should do it more often," Kiyomi agrees.

I look at the photo of Penber on the table.

* * *

"I still have some reservations about it."

"They should be cleared up when you read the -"

"It's very long."

"It's comprehensive. It'll answer all your questions."

"Can't  _you_  answer my questions now?" he asks. He's an eternal backbencher and has seen the terms of several Prime Ministers, thinks he knows it all, is very pissed off that I'm half his age and that he's a fucking loon. He's also very lazy. I don't understand why anyone would want a wig that looks like very sparse pubic hair on his head.

"How many do you have?"

"A few."

"I don't really have time right now. Just read it and then ask me. Oh, excuse me," I say, moving to one side to follow someone else who just happened to be walking past because fate loves me.

"No, it's G.E.V.A.N.N.I. Gevanni... Stephen, yes. No, EEE, Gevaneee... Yes... Fuck's sake, what's wrong with you? Stephen Gevanni... Yes, I'm sure that's his name... What do you mean he's not on the database? What database?... He might not be on the database but I assure you that he exists. Look harder... Take my word for it then... Target shooting... No, it's not for hunting, he just wants to shoot things... I don't know, tin cans or something... What if I said he was hunting tin cans?... Ok, he's hunting and we won't say what he's hunting... Air rifles? No, real guns with exploding things and gun powder like in the American Civil War. He wants to shoot things properly... Listen, I own a law firm and you don't want to upset me... I'm getting upset, yes... I don't understand the complexities of gun ownership, no, but I can find someone who does and you'll be served by this afternoon... You need to have a good think about your tone with me. You won't get very far in life if you're that aggressive... Put me through to your superior, I'm tired of talking to you. No offence, but you're an imbecile. Thank you...Hello, yes, that's me, I want to arrange for a gun licence for my boyfriend, manfriend, partner person. I tried a few weeks ago but your staff are unbelievably stupid and unhelpful. I'd like to make a complaint as well, actually, but first, I want a gun licence. Stephen Gevanni. No, Gevan _eee_! Fucking hell! Forget it."

"L, are you busy?" I say as I cut in and walk alongside him. "It's half day today, isn't it?"

"I'm always busy, Prime Minister. I was on my way to speak to you about it. On top of PR still being the bowels of hell, I miscalculated. I'm giving a presentation to a few civil servants after lunch about how not to be a fuckwit and how keep out of the papers."

"I'm very disappointed to hear that."

"So am I, but it's a life coaching thing. This will impact their whole lives. Why? Are you thinking of making me busier anyway?"

"I was thinking more of a sabbatical."

"A lunchtime sabbatical?"

"I'm sorry that I can't spare you for longer but these people need know how to avoid being fuckwits. It's a problem I've struggled with until recently."

"Then you admit that you are ninety-seven percent fuckwit? It's ok, I'm ninety-nine percent fuckwit, so I beat you there. Don't feel less of a person. I'm sure that you could beat me in some things, we just haven't found them yet."

"A highly concentrated sixty percent fuckwit, at most. But I'm cured."

"Really? And what caused this miracle? Have you been recently crucified?"

"A Frankie Goes to Hollywood song I heard on the radio this morning when I was waiting for the political report. It was shit. I thought of you."

"Relax, don't do it, when you want to suck to it. Relax, don't do it, when you want to come?" he suggests.

"No."

"When two tribes go to war, a point is all you can score working for the black gas?"

"No."

"Welcome to the Pleasuredome, keep moving on, got to reach the top, don't stop, pay love and life, oh my, keep moving on, on again, yeah?"

"No."

"The Power of Love?"

"A force from above."

"Cleaning my soul," he sighs and we stop walking so we can look at each other. We do that a lot lately. "Oh. That makes me feel sick. I must employ sarcasm to combat the stupidity. Don't make me miss the fuckwit," he smiles, and starts walking again. I keep up.

"You said something about a packed lunch on my floor," I remind him.

"Yes, but we have an hour and a half and I eat very slowly. I might eat faster in a restaurant but..."

"That's ok. I'll take you. You should just say if you can't afford it."

He barks a laugh into the air. Some person walks in the opposite direction between us but doesn't slow us down.

"You're right. I can't afford to feed you," he grins. "Tell me, Light. Do you just want the joy of my company?"

"Yes."

"You're very honest nowadays. You'll have to take me somewhere very expensive."

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else, would I?"

"No, you wouldn't. You wouldn't go anywhere that didn't serve an amuse-bouche between courses," he says as we reach the elevator. "I'm going up," he tells me.

"I'm going down."

"Oooh."

"Which floor?" I ask.

"Six," he answers. I press the button.

"So, are you coming?"

"No. But I'll have dinner with you. And I won't skip the dinner part this time."

"Good."

"I have to commend you," he says, leaning against the wall to look at me. "Your ability to chase has improved considerably, despite your lack of natural talent."

"I just think you're easier to chase."

"You might be right there. You're not bringing your guns and muscle, are you? Don't they know that I'd protect you with my own life?"

"Ha! They're not invited."

"That's nice. Dinner in ten minutes then? I'll meet you downstairs."

"I'll get my car."

"Being chauffeured as well? I have gone up in the world."

The elevator doors open and he's still smiling as he walks out. The doors close. I go down.


	8. Leave The Undesirables

In the three months between then and now, I've lived through a general election and remain victorious. I have brought stability, excellent world relations and style, so it wasn't surprising. I have breathed fresh air into this country's government and I haven't even started yet. Kiyomi is now considerably wider around the waist and she's had to hire a dressmaker, and I've had my hair cut. It's shorter at the back and sides. It was Kiyomi's idea. I quite liked it because it looked a bit more like L's, although, strangely, he didn't approve. He says that it makes me look older, which was kind of the point. There's nothing worse than someone who can't accept their age. This is a father's haircut and I am soon to be a father.

A few weeks ago, I walked in on Kiyomi when she was in the bath and tried not to look while trying not to look like I was trying not to look, but I'd just eaten, you see. She's very self-conscious these days and sometimes I have to interfere with her in some mildly sexual way to put a smile on her face for a month or so. It works out quite well and isn't much of an inconvenience, really. I sat on the edge of the bath and she told me that we should start interviewing child carers, nannies, whatever, but no one too young and attractive. I said: "Yes, but someone well-educated." Sayu wanted to do this job, but I worry that her stupidity may have an adverse effect on the baby's brain development, and I will not have a stupid child. It'll be lucky if it ever sees either of it's parents. But anyway, during the campaign I styled my hair in different ways depending on what town and place I was visiting. Wealthy areas = gel. Lower class areas = no gel. Sometimes I didn't wear a tie to give a more relaxed, accessible, Everyman appearance but, again, it depended on the setting. It worked for me.

It turned out that River was the opposition's ghostwriter. I'm nearly impressed. He's on speaking terms with L, who's subtly encouraging him to sabotage the opposition and join our party. I'll find a place for him as a reward for being so disloyal. Apparently, it's going well, judging by Tsukino's poor display in the House on Friday during Questions. He didn't seem to have any questions. So, during another ordinary week and still glowing from Friday's successful desecration in the House, Mikami suggests going to a bar after work which he says is politically safe because it's in a district which has consistently low voting turn out figures. I ask L to join us, otherwise I probably wouldn't go. I think that we both feel some prurient satisfaction from being in each other's company in the presence of the ignorant. The day after I won the election, he slapped me on the backside in some congratulatory but lecherous way in front of everyone in the club. I was disgusted, obviously, and told him loudly and sternly that his actions were inappropriate, no matter how gay he is, and that he'd have to accompany me for a disciplinary that very minute and learn to control his gayness and overfamiliarity. He was well disciplined but is still badly behaved and his reviews are quite a common occurrence in my office.

So, we go to the club in separate cars. My new bodyguards might not be so bulkily impressive as their predecessors, but know that their job is to be absent, only to pop up immediately at any sign of trouble. For that reason, I have a kind of alarm on my belt which, if pressed, sends them running. I might have pressed it accidentally once or twice during their breaks when they're assured that I'm 'safe' so I can test their efficiency. I find bodyguards to be an unnecessary burden. No matter how hard they try to be inconspicuous, I always feel that they make their position too obvious. They either look like bodyguards, which might raise suspicion of my importance and draw attention to me, or they look like mooning admirers. Either way, I don't want them near me most of the time apart from on official occasions.

I feel relieved but offended that I can walk around and sit down and just  _be_  without anyone knowing who I am. About half an hour after we arrive, some glittery, frightening-looking women with badly matched foundations sit at our table without asking if they can, and try to get a free drink from us. We don't oblige. They take up another tactic and start pairing off with us, but L tells his that he's gay and even if he wasn't then he still wouldn't be interested, I flash my wedding ring at mine (which doesn't make any difference at first, so I have to be blunt without going into my matrimonial bliss in any great detail) and Mikami just tells them all to fuck off. After they moan on their way, he says something about brothers on a night out. L chokes and coughs on his drink after Mikami slaps him hard on the back and I want to get so drunk that I can't stand up. It's too much of a risk though.

The conversation wanders. Because of the loud music and the constant screaming and laughing of women having a hen's night, a lot of the time I can't understand exactly what Mikami's saying and I only hear my own voice reverberate through my jaw. L doesn't even try speaking much, like he's aware that his voice is too low and soft to be heard without standing up and bellowing at us, so he sits and drinks his gin and tonic and smiles and stretches out his shoulders and his neck and I can't actually stop looking at him. It's quite sad really. I feel like I'm trying to make up for lost time, since I spent three years out of four not really looking at him at all apart from when I couldn't avoid it because he was right in my face. I want to go back to myself four years ago and... Well, first I'd tell myself that maybe I should think twice about seeing him at all, but if I insisted, then I'd tell myself: 'God, just look at him. He's stunning in every way that you're not, even though you think you are now. Look at how he moves his shoulders. It's a fucking dream, isn't it?' But myself four years ago wouldn't agree. Myself four years ago would see a long streak of piss topped with black hair in a mediocre suit. Hindsight is a terrifying thing.

This place is too loud and eighteen to thirty, so we go somewhere thirty to forty and it's much quieter. There's a sickly cream melancholy to the atmosphere and décor and the singles hover at the bar in their best clothes if they're hopeful, and not-trying-straight-from-work-not-really-hopeful-b ut-maybe-they'll-get-a-fuck-out-of-it for the rest of them. While they wait for Fate, they drink. Mikami doesn't stop talking now that he can be sure of being heard, and L moves from next to him to a seat opposite me. I think it's because Mikami is a very loud and vibrant speaker - which is probably why he ended up going into politics - but then I realise that it's so he can stare at me like an appreciative and doped owl. It's sickening. If the four years ago me could see me now then he'd probably shoot both of us.

L perks up when his way of life and hobby of a lifetime - homosexuality - comes into the conversation after a transvestite walks in and sits by himself. I think he might be a trucker, because he looks like he drives an articulated lorry of some kind and they tend to like sequins and fishnets. His legs are the kind you could steer a ship with. I feel sorry for him and almost want to ask him to sit with us, but I'm too concerned that he might think that I'm even slightly interested in him on a human level. I just feel pity for people who can't help themselves. Style and self-awareness are innate and must be cherished, nurtured and educated, but only if you have a talent to start with, otherwise there's no point. I _could_  help him. Tone it down a bit. A lot. And maybe send him to another kind of bar or street corner at the docks because he'd probably have more luck there. He could sit with us as long as he doesn't speak. At least then he wouldn't look alone. L thinks he's hilarious though and doesn't hide it. He's surprisingly disparaging of the effeminate due to his hatred of women. I don't remind him of his decidedly camp music collection, but I blame his mother. He doesn't trust women. He doesn't trust men either, or dogs, or cats, or bees, or horses, but he reserves a particularly spiteful hatred for women and femininity which I find is an equally cruel, unreasonable and sexually attractive quality in him. I can't let myself forget that he is, before all things, a class A bastard.

Mikami is now semi-ratarsed and open, and asks L if he's monogamous 'really'. L is coy about it and in return asks suggestively why Mikami's so interested, which is laughed off with a playful slap on the arm. Everything always comes back to sex. It's numbed sometimes through overexposure, but we're still fascinated anyway. We are a generation obsessed with it, myself included. Only my own though, unless it's politically useful for me to know what and who everyone else is doing. Mikami can't understand what aspects L can find to like and isolate in the same sex, since all Mikami sees is suits and hair and whether they have a beard or not. I listen to this catastrophe unfold until it turns to me. Then I feel a shard of anxiety.

"What about Yagami. Is he your sort? Would you do Yagami still?" Mikami asks him. Oh, and some. L looks at me over the rim of his glass and the hairs on my neck rise at some sense of predatory danger which I'd welcome with open legs.

"If Light would give me the time of day, he'd be very much my sort," he replies. I can't let this go. I lean back in my chair and observe him cooly but oh, my God. If this goes where I think it's going to go, it'll be a good idea to put my jacket on my lap or I might have to tuck a raging erection into my belt or something in case people think it's a coat rack. We're so fucking obvious but Mikami couldn't see it even if we did a sixty nine right in front of him.

"I'm very fortunate then. I think you'd eat me alive," I say, lighting a cigarette just to blow some smoke into his face slowly. He exhales through a slightly smiling open mouth.

"Like a dancing prawn," he informs me huskily.

"Mmmm…"

"I had dancing prawns once. It was a special at Haruki's," Mikami tells us, but we don't care.

"You're missing out on a lot, Light. Are you sure I can't bring you over to the dark side?" L asks and rubs the back of my calf with his shoe-clad foot under the table. Black Italian leather lace-ups with embossed detailing and perforations. Welted construction which secures the leather upper, sole, lining and insole to the welt by individual and open-channel hand-stitching. Gucci.

"Hey, hey, he has a pregnant wife at home. None of that bollocks," Mikami laughs, but with a tone of seriousness which he thinks L should take notice of. Maybe he's not so blind. I can't help but laugh at it though.

"Ha! Bollocks," I repeat. Mikami suddenly looks thoughtful and reflective, which rum has a tendency to do to a person.

"I did it with a man once," he tells us. We're both surprised.

"Really?!" L says with intense interest, forgetting about me and my leg to lean towards him instead. I kick his shin under the table so he turns back to me and smiles. The fucking nerve.

Mikami nods emphatically while he swallows his rum and indicates towards me with his cigarette hand so two fingers are pointing at me like a gun. "You remember Shingo Mido, don't you?" he asks me. God, Mido got around. I consider how much to say before my gin and tonic hits me again with lemon and pine trees. I don't know what L finds to like in this stuff. I'm not godly with Mikami today. I must show him that I am fallible too so he can trust me and tell me absolutely everything and do absolutely everything I want him to do. As long as he feels appreciated and trusted, he's an idiot.

"Used to be in ummm… Finance about eight years ago?"

"Yeah."

"I was with him too," I admit, looking at my drink regretfully. Eight years ago when I was very young and Penber's aide. He was influential. I was not stupid. It was a bit like sleeping with an uglier twin brother who'd let himself go a bit.

"Ya- fucking- gami, I didn't know you'd swing!" Mikami shouts his surprise far too loudly as he slams his glass down on the table. "I can't believe we did the same man. I thought you were straight as anything."

"I had no idea either," L says, looking at me and my revealed indiscretion of life. "This bisexualism is turning into a bit of a social epidemic, isn't it? I shouldn't complain but, I don't know. This thought might keep me up at night."

I say a 'hah' rather than laugh it out. My mouth feels very dry suddenly and I have no choice but to drink more gin.

"You know that in Ancient Greece, they didn't distinguish sex by gender. The thought would have completely confused them. It was all about who was the penetrator and who was being penetrated," he informs me.

"Oh, to be in Ancient Greece."

"It wasn't all that. Homosexuality in all its wonderful forms was reserved for poets and the upper classes as far as I can tell, and it was mostly paedophilia but let's skip over that. The penetrating role corresponded with high social status and age. An older man would take a pretty someone or other in a loin cloth and teach him about  _all_ things in return for youth, beauty and promise. It was a rite of passage in many, many, many ways."

"Passage, eh?" I smile back at him. We're both tilting our heads to one side. It must look ridiculous.

"You know what?" Mikami exclaims before lighting another cigarette and scratching his ear, "I just wanted a promotion."

"The older man had to court the younger one," L continues, because nothing can stop him now, "which must have been annoying. And the younger one was expected to hold out for a while, which must have been even more annoying. It was so he could make sure that his suitor didn't just want to shag him senseless, but felt a genuine emotional affection for him and wanted to be his mentor. The object of these 'affections' had to play innocent and look at the floor a lot, otherwise he'd be considered a slut. Did you hold out, Light?" he asks me slowly. Lawyer face. Lawyer face and lawyer voice and lawyer wants to fuck me.

"Can't say that I did," I reply. My teeth graze my bottom lip as I smile and he sighs like he couldn't have hoped for a better answer.

"Oh."

"Which way did you go, Yagami?" Mikami asks me. "I went bottom."

"In every sense?" L inquires.

"Yes. Hadn't tried it before, y'see. Give it a go, I thought. Only live once, and you can't be sure of a person's hygiene. I did not fucking like it, no," he says without doubt. L leans towards him again while resting his face on his hand and looks very sympathetic to his plight.

"He wasn't very considerate?"

"Didn't even give me a reach around."

"That's terrible, Teru. Can I call you Teru?"

"Mikami. Enough," I say firmly. Enough of this fucking shit. L's the biggest whore in the entire world, why on  _earth_  have I ended up with him?

"There's a book. Very famous. There's actually a happy ending, which is unthinkable for homosexual literature. It has a scene in it in which some very English students are reading the classics, because that's what happens at Oxbridge; we sit together and eat scones and read ancient gay porn to each other and that's the way it's been since forever. But anyway, the professor in it says: 'Omit the reference to the unspeakable vice of the Greeks!'" L laughs for a moment before turning back towards me to speak softly. "And I read somewhere else as a student: "I too have been revealed as captivated by love for a handsome boy."  _Oh_.

"How's your, um, what's his name?" Mikami asks him, and both L and myself reach for our drinks.

"He's ok, thank you," he replies. No, no, no, he who shall not be named is nowhere near this fucking conversation. He's not even on this plane of existence. I'm going to crush my glass to dust in my hand, aren't I? I'm so consumed with jealousy and rage that I'm going to do that thing people do in films for a bit of drama and brooding emotion. Earlier this week, in the middle of something very penetrative, I put my arms around L so he couldn't see my face. I strained a back muscle in the process and Kiyomi had to put a heat compress on it for me that night. I told him that he had to get rid of Stephen because I couldn't stand it. I can stand it, but I was caught up in the moment and it annoys me sometimes to think that they share the same bed every night. He didn't say anything and neither of us have mentioned Stephen since. I put the glass down.

"So they weren't equal relationships then?" I say sounding a little more angry than I meant to for a well-executed change of subject.

"The Greeks? No. Hardly ever. Alexander the Great did love his Hephaestion though. He's my statue, Light. You know Hephaestion. Late nineteenth century marble. Beautiful thing, although he doesn't look a bit like Jared Leto. He was a present from when I was someone else's Hephaestion. Alexander made him into a divine hero after he died. He wanted him to be made a god at first, but he settled for a divine hero. Isn't that nice? But then, he also named a town after his horse, which lessens the poignancy a little. And Alexander the Great's father was murdered by  _his_  boy, so there's a lesson to be learned by us all. You couldn't make this shit up. But, etiquette was that after the boys weren't boys anymore and if all the fun carried on, then they were a laughing stock; seen as women, and we all know how history has treated women. The older men I can understand, but the boys, no. Not any more. I feel a bit sorry for them really. Didn't sound like they had that much of a choice and the way they've been described is a bit sad. Like they're not in need of anything, just there to be admired by someone else. I heard them described once as something like a god, or the statue of a god."

"I don't understand the suitors," I mutter.

"Oh?"

"I mean, what's in it for them?"

"Thighs, Light. Thighs. Bit of frotting, you know."

"But what are they teaching the younger ones?"

"Thighs? I don't know. How to be a man, apparently."

"I see." Yes, teach me how to be a man, you beautiful bastard. You've taught me a lot and I feel like I've given you nothing in return except money. I could teach you about righteousness and true justice. I could teach you how to be selfless even though I'm not selfless. How to want things for someone other than yourself. Because it's right.

Mikami seems irritable now and is looking around the room manically while holding his empty glass out like someone might fill it up out of the goodness of their heart.

"Well, as I said, I just wanted a promotion," he says.

"And what happened to this Shingo Mido who corrupted you both?" L throws in the amongst the wreckage of a broken moment. "I do hope that you got your promotions or whatever you were after."

"No idea what happened to him. He lost his seat and never got back in. No loss," I tell him, standing up to get another drink. He breathes out some kind of near orgasm.

"Did you just come?" Mikami asks him, shifting in his chair and pushing himself away.

"Of course not. Believe me, it takes more than that and you wouldn't need to ask if I had. No, I was stunned for a moment by how political and economically sound our Prime Minister looks this evening."

"Okaaaaay," Mikami physically rolls.

"Does anyone want another drink? I'm going to be brave and go to the bar," I say. I haven't had to go to a bar since I became Prime Minister so it's almost a treat for me.

"I'll have another one of these, thanks," L says, tapping his empty glass. Yes, three gin and tonics altogether and that's your lot.

"I'll have champagne," Mikami says quickly. So quickly that he clearly hopes that I wouldn't notice that he's taking the piss. Champagne. Fucking three thousand yen a glass for anything decent.

I go and I don't think that anyone recognises me, or at least they're not letting on that they do, and I turn around while I wait so I can lean against the bar and watch L talk to Mikami with my finger settled on my belt alarm, just in case. I must look like a cowboy. I sigh indulgently. All this talk of thighs and intercrural sex. L has a powdery quality to his skin which I can really only admire when he's not looking, because close up he'd wonder what the fuck was wrong with me.

The brothers' night out has all but ended even before I come back with another round. We've exhausted everything we want to talk about as three people and, without discussion, we eventually end up on the pavement outside. The trucker in the dress is still alone when we walk past him. My car is waiting with a driver and my bodyguard inside like I'm being picked up by my parents. Mikami's car's in one direction and L's is in another. I offer them a lift to their cars and Mikami accepts but L refuses. It's the wrong way around. Mikami's over the limit, so I'll have to drive him home to avoid him killing himself and dragging me into a scandal and accusations of neglect and heavy drinking at the tax payer's expense. Plus, Naomi can't really afford to lose another partner.

"Night then," Mikami says to L. He shakes his hands out, stuffs them into his pockets and slouches off towards my car, leaving L and myself to do that gazing thing. I want you to come home with me and never leave. I blink slowly with no rhythm or reason, like I'm tired but I'm not, and he looks about sixteen years old with not a line, not a wrinkle.

"Goodbye, Light," he says quietly.

"Goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

I'm in my box. L calls it the box. He also bought me a framed, signed, limited edition Shepard Fairey screen print for my office which says 'obey' in big letters. I didn't think it was very funny. I do think that it'll increase in value though, so I've put it into storage. I don't know how many people know about the secret of the box, but there are definitely fewer workers walking past and when they do they're bizarrely well-behaved. I will take out my suspicions on my secretaries.

On hot days like today, I have to draw the blind at the window, otherwise it becomes a hot house in here, like the fucking jungle. I've darkened the other walls because everyone looks incredibly ugly to me today. I've been in since five because of something I can't sort out now, though I've tried to think of ways. I can't do it; I'm not anonymous anymore and I can't risk it. L will sort it out. L will sort it out.

I see him through the door and he doesn't even have to ask to be let in anymore. My secretaries don't even bat an eyelid at how he never knocks. He never knocks, he never closes doors, but if he does, then he locks them, like now. Fire safety be damned. I know what a turn of a key means and a heavy ache spreads and warms. He has a tenure's free entry to the box. When I leave, I'll have it torn down and broken up. He sees me and smiles and he has the most perfect smile I've ever seen. It's just a straight line of teeth but there's something about it which is like that of a brat who's getting away with murder. I never smile that broadly, though my teeth are perfect and I have no reason to hide them. I just don't want to broadcast my feelings.

"I  _might_  have crashed my car last night," he laughs guiltily while he takes off his jacket. God's sake.

"What?"

"I drove it into Stephen's car. Ha! Poor Stephen. It's only a week old. You'd think I'd killed someone."

"What happened?" I ask as we walk towards each other.

"I don't think that I had enough to drink. My reactions were terrible and I drove into the side of it."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he says softly when I reach him. He touches my face with his fingers. "He shouted at me."

"Stupid," I whisper and drag my lips across his lightly. My eyes are closed and all I feel is his closeness and his hand on the back of my neck and a want and a need that I always want and need now.

"Yeah," he whispers back. He kisses me and it's more breathy than anything, with the faintest moist pressure and openness as his tongue works into my mouth. It's so slow and lazy and complaisant and I don't kiss people like this. He sighs.

"Be a love and blow me, will you?"

I laugh and smoothly drop down to my knees. I must keep my workforce happy. The metal zip of his trousers races to follow where I drag it, and I look back up at L and his dark eyes. Early wake-up call. His cock is in my mouth when I hear the rasp of the glass becoming clear when he pulls the cord. From the corner of my eye I see people walking around aimlessly outside, stopping to talk in pairs for seconds before walking off again like brainless morons in a locked room. All they can do is circle while I suck L off against the window. L's trying to watch them but can't, but he's fighting with his eyes to try to keep them open anyway. I put him under my tongue for a moment and encase the rest of him in my hand. He grabs the nape of my neck and collar tightly.

His breath stutters like his lungs are giving up when I go back to sucking, then let him thrust his hips forward, forcing himself further into my mouth in repeated, probing movements. I suppose that you either have to be really stupid, really trusting, or you have to really like someone to let them do this. The burning choking feeling as it hammers the back of my throat makes my eyes water. I want to be apart from myself and watch. I'd be disgusted. I think of my 'obey' print, and then I let him go.

He doesn't understand. His panting is rushed but slowing as he looks at me like I'm the cruelest thing in the world. I stand and his eyes follow mine. He's going to say something. He's going to say my name and swear at me probably, but I move quickly to his mouth and cut off his words. I don't need to hear my name right now. I don't want to hear it. Taste yourself on me and see what you've done.

He presses into it, raising himself from the glass to crush his lips to mine until there's nothing but the taste of him in our mouths and it goes right to my core. I smile as I kick his legs apart and knock my knee against him. I'm not too careful or thoughtful, and he gasps with the pain of it. How he throws his head back against the glass as he sinks to the floor makes me bite my lip as I inhale. Pale neck all stretched out with tendons throbbing with vulnerability, cut off by a horrible white collar.

"You need me!" he says through clenched teeth.

I look at him on the floor and can't comprehend what he's said or what I've done. The idea of needing him or anyone. I only need basic things to keep my body alive. You can't need a person; you just want them around or not. But then I think of when he wasn't around and I felt empty and voiceless. I needed him in an almost physical way. I instantly regret what I've done. I did it without thinking. A latent vengeance for being humiliated, disgraced and violated. I let him do it; I violated myself and I still feel so much hatred towards him. He's everything I despise and adore. Gagging on swollen flesh, what the fuck am I doing?

"I need you?"

"Yeah... you kneed me, you fucking... bastard! With your knee!"

"Oh." I smile viciously. It's not what I thought. "Yes. I did."

He looks back up at me, the look of discomfort changing into something else, something more recognisable on him. I know it well. It suits him.

"Do you feel better now?" he asks, smiling back at me, dragging air in and out of his lungs but it's not helping him.

"Yes."

He laughs through pain. It was inevitable that I'd do something like that to him, but didn't I say that we wouldn't hurt each other now? I lied. A knee to the bollocks doesn't count though, really. I drop to the floor again and crawl the small distance towards him to nip at his mouth.

"Did it hurt a lot?" I whisper.

"Yes," he says, all sleepy eyed.

I kiss him as I unzip my trousers so the sound of it mixes with his breaths. He'll feel sick. His stomach muscles will be in seizure, all the wind will have been knocked out of him, the pain will be throbbing and I won't let him recover. I pull at his trousers, now all bunched up at his ankles, until they hang only by one foot like a flag. It makes me laugh to myself, imagining it waving in a surrendering rhythm over my back like I won the war, and I almost miss him say something like a no, but he kisses me all the same. How should I take that? I choose to ignore it. I didn't hear it. I lift one of his legs so the soft inside of his knee rests on my shoulder and he does nothing but claw at me. Then I spit into my hand.

One hand rips at his tie and unbuttons his shirt until I can see it all and half-kiss, half-bite at his throat as I enter him. It's not very nice, but it will be soon, mostly likely. He cries out because it is cruel, it is, but he twists and grabs at my shoulders and then my arse. His teeth clench together and he shivers as he rises and falls against me. He makes gasping, whimpering little noises like he's trying to be quiet, and a little cry that I kiss him for with closed eyes because I can't feel anything else apart from just being inside him and waiting until I can move freely. I can find his mouth even with closed eyes. He moans with every slow thrust but each one deeper and with less reserve, and he opens his eyes and kisses me. I bend his other leg and hold his knee as close to his chest as I can without breaking it, but I do think: 'I could break it, I could. Pop the joint right out and snap.'

My fingers are digging into his waist as he clings and moans and shudders and rolls against me, squeezing his cock hard between our stomachs. It's very good that he's so flexible, I think. I can practically bend him over double into a ball. Yes, it's very convenient. Couldn't do that with with Kiyomi, even if she wasn't a balloon at the moment. He is brilliant in every way, like I needed to be reminded, and Nature takes over so I can't control things anymore, I can only keep fucking him fearlessly like he can't break. His bones dig into me and he seems so fragile somehow and only now at times like this, but it just makes me harder and makes me fuck him harder until the groans and gasps and cringing just become one. I can't tell anymore if there's pain there or not, I don't care. And from here I can see the people walking now. I can watch them and they have no idea. I see every step. I squeeze my eyes shut against the desire for them to see and just keep on walking. Be confronted with the truth of limbs and just keep on walking. My back arches, I let his legs go and he spreads for me like I'm fucking a dead thing until I'm just pulsing inside him while I kiss him. He's so slow to respond to me, but I can feel his eyelashes on my cheek and it eases, it passes, it goes, and all that's left is ragged breathing. I stay there. I lie on him and wonder if his bones can carry both of us. He lived all these years only to hold my weight.

"That was unexpected... That wasn't what I ordered," he murmurs after a minute passes. He sounds like a cat purring. Part of me knows that we're weird fuckers and I hope that we never stop and become totally vanilla and boring and talk about non-biological detergents. It makes me laugh but I haven't enough air to do that.

"I need a day with you," I whisper thinly into his throat. His cut-throat razored skin. I don't think I've ever kissed a throat so smooth before, not even Kiyomi's. He hums out a low reply and his hands splay over my shoulders until I feel the damp crooks of his shirt-covered elbows around my neck. "I also need to talk to you about something."

"Yeah... It's like it's my birthday and your birthday and Christmas... Fuck, my balls hurt. You're such a bad, bad man."

"This Wedy thing isn't going away," I kiss into his jawbone. His fingers curve around my head.

"What Wedy thing?" he asks.

"L. Wedy. Secretary of State. Died here. CIA think I killed her."

"They don't," he says and turns his face to kiss me. He's still not taking any notice. "They can't prove it anyway."

"They pulled in Mikami for questioning."

"The CIA did?"

"And the NPA."

"Oh. That's... serious." He finally recognises the actual seriousness of it. Yes, it is serious. I've been very serious about it since last night when Mikami told me in the car. It slaps his brain into action and I see it in his eyes as they flutter from side to side, not really seeing.

"Yes," I say. Serious it very much is. They're getting closer to me.

"I'll… I'll ask Stephen. A friend of his is very talky. I'll invite him over," he swallows between sentences and exhaling breaths. "He'll probably tell me anything if I get him drunk enough. Oh God, I hate his wife."

"The CIA are still here?"

"One is."

"Why didn't you think I should know about this?" I ask. It's nearly forgotten now. My voice is almost at its normal level and tone and I want to fire questions at him like he has all the answers. The CIA are still here and he didn't tell me? His eyes are wide again and apologetic.

"He's stayed on with the US embassy. I don't know. I didn't think it was important. Stephen said it was over."

"Stephen lied," I hiss at him. Why does he refuse to see what's fucking obvious? Stephen's a bastard. He wraps L in cotton wool and does all the things for him that I don't. No one can be that nice. He'll have some bodies buried somewhere.

"Stephen's not with the CIA anymore. He doesn't lie. He obviously didn't know."

"You're sure about that?"

"Yes. Stephen does not lie to me or anyone else. He just avoids the truth sometimes."

"Like that's different. I hope you're right," I say, pulling away from him to stand up. I turn towards the window as I fasten my trousers, looking out to the sky, tinted grey from the glass through slatted blinds.

"It's ok. Don't worry about it. I'll find out what's going on," he tells me. He sounds worried. He should be.

I turn back around and smile down at him all pornographic and flared out on the floor, unashamed while he's lost in thought. He wouldn't feel shame anyway, but the way his foot is hidden by his crumpled, empty-legged trousers makes me feel more affectionate than anything else. I would have laughed once and never stopped laughing, but I can't now, I just feel warmth towards him. I'm going to remember him this way later. I'm tired of going to sleep without him there. Without him insulting me when I turn over.

"I knew you would," I reply quietly, so he looks at me and smiles back. He loves me, I think. Maybe I look the same way, but it looks so nice on him. I rest my hand on my stomach and feel the dampness suddenly. My shirt is sticking to me like it's soaking wet in a spreading translucent stain. I didn't realise. Wonderful. It's all fine at the time but then I'm stuck with jizz on my clothes and at least half an hour hand-washing them in my bathroom sink and spending all day hoping that no one realised that I was wearing different clothes to what I came into work with. You can't underestimate the importance of proper planning. Someone, probably me, will have to stand back at the right moment, put all clothes on hangers and lay out some plastic sheeting on the floor. Yes. These things should be like a well-planned murder. I'm working on this idea when some movement outside my office door catches my eye. No, it's not him. I don't believe it. "Fuck me."

"What?" L asks me from the floor.

"B's outside."

"What?!"

"Look! What the fuck is he doing here? Why is he here?" I interrogate him, the panic rising like a plane after take-off. The adrenaline has made me forget that only a few moments before I would have liked a lie down and a coffee. "What does he want with me? Oh God, he's come to commit me, hasn't he? He's come to pull more of my hair out and commit me."

"He pulled your hair out?"

"Pulled some out and put it in his notebook."

L mouths out the letter B without making a sound while he looks at him through the glass. I wait for some indication of life but after half a minute there's still nothing. He's catatonic.

"L, come on!" I say desperately, dragging him to his feet. He's still not moving or speaking and I feel like I have to deal with this myself. I have to make him presentable because he's sitting there with his trousers around one ankle, the wall needs cleaning and B's outside. I bend down and pull his trousers back up over his narrow shoes (Roberto Cavalli patent leather Oxford with laser etched soles and synthetic heels for increased traction. He's worn better) and sticky legs. And I don't think that I can make this work. He needs a shower and a completely new set of clothes.

"He can't see me here, Light. He'll know."

"What do you mean, he'll know? Straighten yourself out and… you do look a bit sexed. L. Zip. Don't bother, I might as well do it. You just stand there and gawp some more because that's really useful. God, your shirt. When that's dry it'll stand up on its own. Agh! And my shirt!"

"Oh no, I've Christened your shirt!" he gasps and slaps his hand to his mouth as he stares at it.

"It's ok, I have shirts!" I start taking it off as I run to the closet and pull out shirts. Any old shirt. Shirts.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbles, dazed.

"This is one instance where it's not your fault." No, he just wanted a blow and that's not as messy, usually. That's definitely the way to go for the workplace. This is all my fault. I thought that it was a brilliant idea but I didn't think it through and now we're covered in semen and B's outside. "Here, have one of my shirts. Wow. It's like he's looking right at me," I say, and L nearly screams as I stare at B staring at me.

"Don't look into his eyes!"

"L, he can't actually see me."

"Don't let him in!"

"Just tell me what he wants."

"I don't know! He never told me he was coming to Japan!"

The fear has him but at least it's knocked him into moving. He takes off his shirt, rolls it up and stuffs it into one of the drawers of my desk. I'll probably forget about and find it later during a very important meeting. Everyone will think it's my wank rag. He looks like he's seen the horrors of war as he pulls on the shirt I gave him. It's painfully noticeable to me that it's doesn't look like something he'd look twice at on sale and wouldn't wear it even if someone gave it to him. It doesn't look like his, it looks like mine and it doesn't fit him properly and his trousers are badly creased and his jacket too and we won't be able to cover this up. It hits me. We are not going to be able to cover this up. It'll take an hour, showers, new clothes and a carpet cleaner to have a hope of doing it. He is trying though. I watch him while my secretary frantically tries to get through to me. I wonder if I can ignore this or buy us more time. Hide L like he's Anne Frank. My phone is going berserk, a red light is flashing and B is outside staring in at us. No, he can't see us, he can't. It's ok. I can deal with this. Give me a situation and I can make it work. Tim Gunn says that I can make it work, yes. But, no! He doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about! There's style advice and then there's having an insane psychologist who's outside my office and wants to get in!

"Great. Ok. Ok. Ok," I say to myself as a mantra, smoothing myself down in the mirror before turning back to L. He's trying to un-bed his hair but he still looks very much bedded. I look better. With my jacket on, I feel a rush of calm determination rush through me. I will protect my loved ones from danger. "Ok. I look fine. Stay there."

I open the door only enough so I can slip outside and find myself right in front of B, who looks considerably more manic than last time I saw him, which I didn't think was possible. He has dark puffy circles under red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. He's disheveled and pale – his lips look almost white – but his suit is disturbingly well-pressed like he hasn't sat down all day. And he's staring at me.

"Hi, B!" I say in as relaxed a manner as I can, but it sounds incredibly guilty and panic-stricken in my ears. I try to steer him away from my office to give L a chance to escape. "This is a surprise! Are you looking for L? He's in a meeting but he should be back in his office soon so -"

"You can speak English now," he states, refusing to move.

"A little bit. I'm still learning but -"

It's no good. He pushes past me, opens the door to my office and I run in after him after a shocked delay. He's standing just inside of the room staring at L now, so they're reflections of each other. I notice that B's opening and closing his fists, stretching out the fingers so that they crack; drawing them back into his palm over and over again. He smiles, but it's almost expressionless. There's a deathly calm in the room now, but an undercurrent of rage and fear. Staring wide eyes. His mouth moves with mechanic precision while the rest of his face is like an inanimate drawing in pencil. His voice is chillingly cheerful as he speaks to L, who looks terrified.

"Baby boy. How nice. Oh. Look at you. Have you just woken up? Don't you look adorable," he smiles at him, I think. His teeth are showing anyway. He turns to me suddenly and points right at my nose so I can't help but take a step back. "You remind me of the alien in  _Predator_. The one that looked kind of hot in a combat Rastafarian way until his face went 'WAAAAAHHH!' y'know? L reminds me of Bambi. L, you look just like Bambi in the snow after his mother was shot."

"B!" L says nervously. "You didn't say that you were -"

"Shut the door, Prime Minister, you'll let in a draft, don't worry, I'll do it. My client in Sydney is insane, L. I'm just on my way back. I flew all that way for a one minute assessment. She's mad! I thought I'd divert my flight and stop by to see you for a day or two. Imagine my surprise to find that you weren't in your office. Some blond PVC girly boy told me you were probably with the Prime Minister here. And here you are. Oh, look at this!" he says, but nothing about him moves apart from his eyes as they quickly spin around in office before centring back on L. "You can't see the inside from the outside but you can see the outside from the inside. Fancy. Baby boy, if you don't mind me saying so, you look extremely fucked."

His voice runs down like a record player with a dying battery to a hollow, slow, deep conclusion. It's as emotionless as his face, and though his words started so pleasantly and rushed in delivery, it ended with a last word said with so much venom that it sounds like an accusation. He knows. L knew that he'd know. I don't see what it's got to do with him though; L's not far away from forty and they're not married or anything. I got the feeling when I listened in on them talking at the party that B cared more about what L did and who with than what he did and who with himself, so I'm not surprised at the interest, it's just the level of interest which is strange. I'm waiting for L to shut him down, but he seems transfixed by his eyes. I'm inwardly urging him to say something and fighting against the feeling that I should answer for him, but after a second he laughs vainly.

"Do I?! Well! I -"

He stops when B accelerates towards him so fast that he almost glides. I don't see B's feet move at all but he's suddenly on L and sniffing him in a circular motion around his hair and neck and face and shirt. He grabs L's wrists and takes in a deep inhalation before dropping them so he can drift back to sniff across his chest. L looks at me, more frightened than I've ever seen him and I wonder whether I should pick up some kind of weapon. At times like this, you need a poker or a heavy ashtray.

B wheezes out a noise and rises up to look directly into L's face.

"Baby boy. What have you been doing?" he asks slowly.

"N-n-nothing," L stutters. Oh God, L, no, not stuttering. He's never stuttered. He's been alone with murderers and he even had one stay at his house once as a term of bail but he's stuttering now? "I've just been working!" he says.

"You never listen to me," B tells him.

"I do."

"No. Lie."

"I-I-I-"

"I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-what?" B asks, like a creaking door, and jerks his head to one side. I have to step in and break this up.

"Hey, B, why don't we - "

"I'M NOT TALKING TO YOU!" he turns to shout at me, then snaps back around to face L again. "You smell like him you've just had sex haven't you on the floor you've just had sex," he says, and so quickly that I nearly didn't catch it at all. The overall sound was of a car driving through a pool of water at eighty miles an hour. It's ok. L can deal with this.

"No, B!" L laughs. "I think you need a downer and a cup of -"

"But you smell like him."

"We must have the same aftershave," L says defensively and goes completely still, cracking immediately under the pressure. Oh, L, aftershave? The most fantastic liar I've ever met is immediately broken. He's  _not_  going to deal with this, is he? I can't believe he's going to fuck this up.

"It's not an aftershave that's how much you know an aftershave is only one to three percent perfume oil in alcohol and is intended to close the pores after shaving but you smell of eau de parfum which is much stronger and you put it on pulse points not on your face and neck after shaving because it's typically eight to fifteen percent perfume oil so it'll last all day. No. No you don't wear a scent normally you just smell clean like soap but if you do it's always Angel by Thierry Mugler you have done for years because frankly darling you don't know what you're doing and it's very cheap and common and the bottle is shit but I'm thankful that at least you wear the men's version because you're not a girl. I always liked it anyway because when you wear it you smell like chocolate and caramel and vanilla and musk and coffee it smells like that on you you're very lucky because on everyone else it smells like piss but there's also a base note of tonka bean in there I don't know why they keep putting that in things but _he_  wears a Tom Ford Private Blend I think it's Tobacco Vanille with Noir de Noir mix and match eh very unusual. No, this is a man who knows what he's doing this man is a connoisseur he likes fine things in life and he buys eau de parfum and maybe yes definitely Tuscan Leather but he wore that yesterday I can detect the leather notes even though he's had a shower this morning and he's sweated profusely since, as have you, have you two been to the gym and had a  _serious_  wank this morning or is Stephen hiding in the cupboard come out Stephen it's ok I won't bite! No? No Stephen in the cupboard? Well then there really isn't any other explanation but that doesn't get around the fact that it's parfum two parts Noir de Noir and one part Tobacco Vanille nice choice by the way you added the vanilla for L didn't you?" he says glancing at me for a millisecond before turning back to L. "And you smell of that you smell like him."

"I wear those colognes," L tells him, sounding like he's about to cry. What the fuck?

"They're not colognes L you're digging a big hole for yourself they're unisex eau de parfum and very expensive you wouldn't spend that much on something you don't take notice of anyway but  _he_  would and he does you smell like him."

"Don't tell me what I wear! I bought them and I mix and match them because I like them and I'm unusual. I like Tobacco de Leather and Noir Vanille."

"Tobacco Vanille Noir de Noir and Tuscan Leather L are you seriously trying to tell me to you own those things because if you are you're lying it's not something you'd forget or get mixed up it's a lifestyle choice it's very important to someone who likes perfume and you know  _fuck all_  about perfume L."

"I do! I'm not obsessed like you but I can appreciate a nice Tuscan whatever when I smell it! Stop being so fucking elitist!"

"Are you telling me that if I go to your house now that I'll find Tom Ford's Noir de Noir, Tobacco Vanille and Tuscan Leather in your bathroom?"

"Yes."

"Lie."

"Don't try to interrogate me, B. I've been in courtrooms for over fifteen years."

"Don't try to lie to me L I'm a psychologist and I've known you since you were eleven years old and you cried at night but you didn't make a sound and when I asked you why you cried you said that you didn't and you looked the same as you do now because you were lying then and you're lying now."

"What has school got to do with this? Why would I lie? Jesus fucking Christ, you can't turn up and start accusing me of lying about aftershaves! And I didn't cry at school. I had a sinus problem."

"But they're  _not_  aftershaves L they're eau de parfum I told you haven't you heard a word I've said and I told you not to have anything to do with him but here you are anyway having sex on his floor at nine in the morning when you're supposed to be working is this why you like your job so much L is this part of your job description?"

"We're in a meeting. We're not doing anything! I'm -"

"I beg to differ you smell of Noir de Noir and Tobacco Vanille and Tuscan Leather and sweat and sex because you've just had sex with him on this floor right THERE," he says, pointing to a frighteningly accurate spot on the floor. "What the fuck is wrong with you two having sex on the floor in the Prime Minister's office at nine in the morning and you can't even take your clothes off properly neither of you do you can't hide it by wearing new shirts that's definitely not your shirt that's  _his_  shirt it has to be it's lilac for God's sake lilac L lilac a grey lilac but it's lilac all the same and it doesn't suit your colouring at all so it looks fucking awful but ooooh look at that it'd look amazing on Mr Predator over there it'd make his eyes just  _pop_  especially if he was in a light navy suit how about that he's in a light navy suit but you're in light grey so you look like you're going to a wedding you're not going to a wedding are you L what a nice occasion I wish them every happiness but  _still_  lilac is a colour which is worn by professionals who are stylistically adventurous and don't rely on old standards like you do. Where's the shirt you came in with or didn't you bother wearing one I bet it'd be caked in all sorts of tadpoles and jam you know I've never understood why you business types have all these spare clothes in your offices because let's face it you don't work very hard compared to other people I mean you're not really exerting yourselves sitting at desks all day but now I understand it's because you're always having sex on each other's floors so  _why_  are you doing that L in a place where you can see the outside from the inside but no one can see the inside from the outside you're like peepers in reverse both of you you've both completely missed the point of peeping and exhibitionism you're very fucked up upstairs the lights are on but no one's home not the sharpest knives in the drawer a few cards short of a deck the bats are out of the belfry a few fries short of a Happy Meal the elevator doesn't go all the way to the top floor the antenna doesn't pick up all the channels all booster no payload one IQ point above brain death if I offered you a penny for your thoughts then I'd get change not the fastest ship in the fleet the gates are down the lights are flashing but the train isn't coming isn't that right L?"

"You did... you didn't sleep on the plane, did you?" L gulps and gingerly pats him on the shoulder. "Calm down, B, I'll get you a nice cup of tea and we'll -"

"You're completely gone I can't save you can I?"

"What? There's nothing wrong with me! Really, I think you're overtir-"

"Lie."

"That you're overtired?"

"You have a man at home who loves you just like that he just loved you and you didn't have to pester  _him_  for years until he made up his mind because Stephen's well-balanced emotionally a little boring maybe but well-balanced which believe me is pretty unique these days he's not completely insane unlike someone else I don't care to mention but he _might_  be standing right behind me no Stephen does DIY completely voluntarily  _and_  he cooks and I forgot to tell you last time but he's nice in a Hollywood way and I think his arse is particularly impressive but you're fucking some psycho who has a wife in  _his_  home who's about to drop a baby any second and you've been with him for years because it never really stopped did it it never really stopped."

"It did. I'm not. I'm -"

"You were the most brilliant thing I'd ever seen I wanted to be just like you and I could only watch you because you never looked at me not in that way apart from that one time but you were drunk then and you've forgotten or at least you pretend that you have and you've been killing yourself for years and I've been sitting there knowing that you're doing it and I thought: 'One day he'll come back!' but you never did you never have and I know why, I knew why, it's because now you've found someone who'll finish the job haven't you someone to kill you that's what you want isn't it what you've always wanted you want to die."

"Shut up!"

"Stop it, B," I say, as forcefully as I can. This is crazy now and L's shaking. I can't take in everything that's being said. It's too much. It's like being locked in a TV showroom and all the TV's are on different stations and the volume's up full belt.

"Your capacity to lie is amazing and I think he's just like you and you see yourself in him and you see the end of time in him because you think he's better than you and he'll beat you and you'll die at his hands. I think you're like a child who can't understand why everyone else doesn't see things in the same way that you do because your ego is so overwhelming and you know that you're brilliant and you get off on making people believe your lies because it makes them idiots and it makes you greater than them which is lovely I'm sure but it isolates you too because there's no one on your level so you'll always be alone and you'll keep yourself alone so it's a double edged sword isn't it really? Challenges. Wouldn't it be nice to be stupid just like everyone else but there's only one point of view and it's your own even though you know that dishonesty ends in punishment it always does and you've lied forever how can you stop now?"

"B -"

"You can't be saved you're going to be punished but you won't allow it no one will punish you you'll punish yourself instead because you have the death drive L you have the death drive you feel that you shouldn't be alive you should be dead none of this feels real or right to you does it it's like you're in a dream and you've never woken up you can't find a way out the death drive has taken you over and its only task is to make sure that you die life isn't happiness it's suffering and you have suffered you've seen all you want to see and know all you want to know and now you want it to end death is the goal of life."

"No!"

"You know what the other name for it is, L? Thanatos. Death. You know him. You did Classics. Thanatos. The twin brother of Hypnos. Sleep. You don't sleep you never could but maybe Death will be a friend to you is that what you think a euthanasia a good death is that what you think he is?"

"Stop it right now!" I say, but it's like I'm locked outside, looking in. My hand feels numb because I've been digging the nails into a tight fist. I've only just realised.

"How do you save yourself while you're here though? You lie. You have pseudologia fantastica otherwise known as mythomania or pathological lying that's you, you lie compulsively to save and condemn yourself at the same time but you're so good at it that no one knows that you're lying but I know, I know you, and you think that you'll fail if you stop lying now do you know why you lie L it's out of fear you're frightened of something and I think that something is yourself."

"No," L breathes out, shaking his head and moving backwards but B moves with him.

"It's the truth you just can't accept it and I don't think that I can help you but well done you've found your suicide I hope you're happy and that he was a good fuck you know what my diagnosis of you is L it's that you're an idiot you might as well kill yourself now."

"No, he's not that!"

"I wouldn't hurt him!" I shout without thinking. B looks at me and my heart stops.

"Oh, so you do love him then?" he asks me, and his eyes are like red marbles in a goldfish bowl which he immediately turns back to L. "I thought so I watched him at the party he was watching you the entire time and he wanted you you were the only thing he saw that night and you knew it didn't you? You wanted to make him suffer like you've suffered didn't you? You wanted him to understand what it's like and it was a fucking boner wasn't it to have him there and shut him out and make him suffer while you pretend to be something you're not because you're not happy with Stephen he's too much like wallpaper for you just plain wallpaper but you  _need_  plain wallpaper L because you need someone solid and dependable who'll tone you down not someone like the Prime Minister here but you couldn't be happy with anyone apart from with him now you've decided you decided when you saw him but that's not going to happen either is it because you want better for him you'll just bring him down with you and you want him to bring  _you_  down you want him to kill you you want to die."

"Please, B -"

"But he said just now that he wouldn't hurt you he couldn't because he loves you you're his whole life I can tell but it's getting near the end now you know it he's going to destroy his career for you to be with you but that's not your plan for him is it? You made him. He's a god. You made him with your own hands and you want something good and you've always strived for it but it just wasn't there was it? Not for you. He's there though and he loves you and he'll do anything for you and you want him to do what you can't."

"Yes, I made him," L closes his eyes and breathes out the words. "He's God."

He says that to me and only to me. Why would he say it to anyone else? I phoned him once and said that it was God calling and he told me that it wasn't funny. It's a sex kink; why would he tell B that? I'm not God, I've never felt less like God. I feel like I'm coming apart like L is and B's doing it. It's the room, it's full of it, it's full of B. It feels like it's shrunk with claustrophobia. I remember my belt alarm and press it but it's not there, it must be on the floor somewhere, I can't remember where I threw it! But I can't call security. What if B sounds off while they're there. They might not believe it but they'll always suspect. I need to stop this myself and all the while B is still ranting at L.

"God? You made God? I understand. That's your legacy because what legacy can we leave apart from what we've created something that lives on after we've gone and that's what you have planned for him and you've been carving him out of stone since you met him for that reason."

"Yes. No!"

"But that's not fair on him is it he doesn't want to be god anymore he just wants to be with you and you're not going to give him that."

"B, stop, please, I can't stand it!" L screams. He crunches his fists around his head to try and protect himself like it's a physical attack and I don't know what to do!

"The only thing you feel is destruction that's all you are," B tells him.

"No."

"You're in love with him you have been since the moment you met him I don't understand why I don't understand why you've been lying to me all this time."

"No. I haven't lied to you."

"Lie."

"I'm not lying!"

"You're a liar you're a liar you're a liar you're a liar you're a liar you're a liar you're a liar you're a liar you're a -"

"NO!"

L's back falls against the wall and I run towards them, grabbing B's shoulder and tell him to back off. His head slides around to face me with an bizarre smoothness. I've never seen anything like him. He doesn't seem real. I see then that he doesn't move because he doesn't have to. There's nothing but white noise in my head and B's voice. I can't think.

"Back off? Back up. You need to keep out of this Prime Minister," he says. He moves out of my grip and herds L against the wall. L tries to look away from him, but he can't avoid B's words like knives right in his face.

"If you lie to me that's the end I knew it I knew if you lied to me that would be the end I couldn't help you I've always been there for you always like you've always been there for me but you're pushing me out you don't want me here it's just him it's just him and no one else I didn't think that I'd come back here to find that you're such a fucking idiot. And that's my diagnosis of you, L. You're a  _fucking_  idiot!

"Hey! Watch your mouth." I say lowly, suddenly able to move again and barge in between them. L runs suddenly for the door and rocks the handle back and forth in desperation. Why won't it open? He looks at me, bone white and with pure fear in his eyes as he struggles with the door. I see my secretary out of the corner of my eye stand up outside, but she can't do anything and neither can I. Why can't he just open the door?

"Light! Open the door!" he begs me. But why can't you open it? It's just a door, L! He starts coughing and retching then. He lets go of the door and doubles over, choking on dry air and trying to stop himself from throwing up. I can't believe this is happening. I can't move again; I can only watch him like B is. Both of us watching someone in pain and not doing anything to help them.

But B floats past me again towards L and I still can't move. I can't let him near him! What the fuck is he? He takes L by the shoulders and forces him to stand straight so all I see is L's face so pale and clammy and with darker, almost green grey hollows under his eyes from sickness. He looks like he hasn't slept for years and B's draining him of life, and I still just stand here.

"I locked the door when I came in L I have the key you're trapped in here with me and the truth how do you feel about that L what are you going to do?" B asks him.

"Stop it! I'm going to be sick, B!" L rasps, fighting against both the nausea and B, but B takes him into his arms and I think that maybe it's over. No one could be so pitiless to keep doing that to someone. B's going to stop and let him go. He doesn't though. He just whispers in the same insanely fast way into L's ear while L hyperventilates on his shoulder and grips his arms with his fingers, thin and spread out like spider legs.

"I don't want to do this to you L I love you you're my only friend but someone has to tell you you have to stop doing this because you've found him now and I don't think that I can stop you but I don't want you to do this please don't do this please don't do this please don't do this please don't do this."

I'm not going to kill him, but I'd kill B. I run towards them and tear B away from L, flinging him backwards by his jacket.

"That's enough! Leave him alone," I say and I fucking mean it. That's the end now. B gathers himself and strands straight again to glare at me with such shocked loathing. He's not human. But he has to be. "Give me the fucking key," I tell him, holding my hand out, and he carries on staring at me with the widest, glassiest eyes I've ever seen. I hear L breathing heavily behind me, B looks at him, then reaches into his pocket slowly and holds out the key.

I grab it from his hand and spin around to open the door. My hands are slippery and so slow, but then the door clicks, I open it so L and I can leave. I can feel B's eyes in my back as I walk L away quickly and I can still feel his eyes even when we've walked around a corner, and have to turn around to check that he's not there. He's not following us.

L darts away from me after a minute and runs into a bathroom, straight into a cubicle, collapses at the toilet and throws up into the basin. I think he'll never stop. Even when there's nothing left in him, he's still retching, his back heaving and I watch him. Why am I so fucking useless?

I lean against the partition between cubicles and listen to him try to vomit up something he can't get rid of. The sounds of purging grow less and less and further apart until at last he's just breathing heavily. The toilet flushes, and after that he walks past me towards the sink to splash water on his face, rinse out his mouth and I'm still, still just standing here. He turns to look at me and smiles bitterly - I don't know how he can - and slumps to the floor to slouch against the wall. I join him.

"Are you ok?" I ask. I think I must look as slack-jawed and tired-looking as he does and completely empty. I'm trying to get my head around what happened.

"Yeah… I feel just… great," he breathes out.

Kagura from the Treasury comes in and stops to look at us sitting on the floor.

"Gastro," I tell him. He pouts, nods in sympathy and walks into a cubicle. We hear him piss while we're just having trouble breathing regularly.

"I'll get rid of B. Stay here," I mumble, not relishing the thought. I'll call security and they'll get rid of him. As I start to stand, L grabs my arm and pulls me back down again.

"No. Just… I'll speak with him," he says.

"Not a good idea, L. He made you physically sick by speaking to you."

"That's his method… It's a… 'kill or cure' kind of thing. God... he hasn't done that to me since we were fifteen and I ended up in hospital then. I'm lucky to be alive."

"What he said, was it true?"

"I don't know."

"You want me to kill you?" I whisper. I'm not angry or horrified, I just want to know.

"No," he exhales and rests his forehead on his bent knees.

"I wouldn't kill you, L."

"I need to… find B."

"Leave it for now."

I hold his hand on the floor. Kagura comes out of the cubicle and stares at us again while his hands hang under running water.

"And his dog's just died," I explain to him.

"I loved that dog," L says sadly.

Kagura nods again and walks out, taking some hand towels with him. No one wants to stay around gastro and personal tragedy if they can help it. After he's gone, I cup L's face in my hand and turn it towards me.

"Are you ok, really?"

"Yeah."

"You should go home."

"I won't feel any better there."

"You stay with me today then."

"We never get any work done," he smiles tiredly.

"What if he comes back for me? I'm scared of him," I smile back.

"You're scared of no one."

"I thought that, but then I met B. Please. I'll let you work, I promise. You can have a shower. I'll ask Mihael to bring over another suit from your office and then you can do whatever you want."

"A shower in the bathroom mini-box?"

"Yeah."

"What about my clothes?"

"Leave them with me," I say, pinching the hem of his jacket. It's a silk and wool mix. "I'll be scrubbing at mine later anyway. I'm getting very good at it now."

"You'll scrub my suit? That's true love, that is," he says and I snort shyly like an idiot. "Ok. All that sounds ok. Bathroom mini-box."

"Your friend is mad," I tell him. Like that needs pointing out.

"He's the sanest person I know," he says and coughs, then closes his eyes and mouths out another 'B' as he leans towards me. Poor L can't know many people. I kiss his forehead and rake his hair back off his face so he looks just slightly more professional.

"Come on then," I say and lift him to his feet.

When we get back to my office, which I really don't think it's the best plan, it looks like B's left already and my secretary confirms it. I inwardly breathe a sigh of relief but L becomes upset and anxious and starts phoning him, facing away from me. It sounds that B's picked up but won't talk, so L's just apologising, begging him to speak, he knows he's there because he picked up, asks him to meet him, stay at his, they have to talk, all that shit. I don't know why he's apologising. I don't know why he's phoning him in the first place, but that's L, I suppose. When he finishes with that, he looks like he's aged over a one-way phone call. I decide that it's not a good time to discuss a press release about a proposed ban on TV advertising of unhealthy food between seven in the morning and nine at night, so I'll release it myself and email it to Mihael. It makes me nervous somehow, because it hasn't been read over. I start to think that I've emailed it to the wrong person, maybe there are spelling mistakes everywhere, maybe my opinion is completely wrong. There's an official consensus but I don't know what my opinion is anymore.

I'm just going to ask L what his opinion of TV advertising of unhealthy food is, because he's not constrained by what is politically right and inoffensive, but then, he likes unhealthy food. He sits down on my lounger and I decide not to ask him anything mundane or otherwise.

"He won't speak to me," he says.

"I thought as much."

"That's it then. I'm completely alone."

"You're not alone, L."

"B's always been there. He's never avoided me."

"At least he answered the phone."

"He didn't say anything."

"Nothing at all?"

"No. Just nothing. You know when you're leaving a message on someone's machine and there's a moment when you actually hear yourself? I mean, you really hear yourself and you sound so fucking stupid. No, you've never had that. It's ok."

"You can talk to me," I tell him. He turns around to look at me like he's trying to figure out if he can or not, and his eyes fall to the floor like shedding leaves. "Or you could go to sleep for a while. You look like shit. Sleep then shower or the other way around."

"I have... work to do."

"Well, it can wait. I'll wake you in an hour."

"If my phone rings?"

"If it's B."

"Light?"

"Yeah?"

"I slept with Stephen last night. I just... I thought you should know," he says. It's a punch in the gut and I'm not sure why. It's not a surprise to me but I don't want to hear dates and times and actually be told. I think it's cruel of him to tell me. He's definitely getting some action lately between Stephen and myself, but why does he have to tell me about it? I've never kept him up to date with what I did with Kiyomi, because it's insensitive. She's also pregnant so it's extremely obvious. I imagine that it was an angry fuck after he was late and hit Stephen's car. Stephen had probably made lasagne and had some shit jazz on in the background, lit some candles and it was all ruined, then L crashed into his car so they had a big fight which turned into a big fuck. I imagine all sorts of things and can't stop myself.

"Right," I nod and swallow. "I mean, I know that you do."

"Yes, but this was different."

"Did you ask him if he was God?" I laugh, the bitterness oozing out of my words.

"Stop it."

"How was it different then? I don't know if I want to hear it though. I don't want to hear it."

"It was different because I left you on the pavement and it was that day all over again. I still expect you to fix all this, like I thought you would that day. Just to tell me what's going to happen, because it's in your hands. But you didn't, you couldn't. I go to the airport or you get in your car. Either way, one of us leaves. I always want you to say something you can't say. I went home and I slept with him instead and I wished he was you. I haven't felt like that before. I like Stephen," he tells me, turning his face towards me but not looking at me. "Now it's all wrong."

"Kiyomi asked me if I'd ever have an affair and I told her that she was my affair."

"Ha. Oh, Light, what a cluster of fucks. Now, to me, Stephen's an affair. It's wrong, isn't it? You're good with right and wrong. Shouldn't we be the affair? You don't have a problem with that?"

"Of course I have a problem with it. I am not fucking happy here, L. I don't want to think of you with him. I hate this whole thing and I know that it's my fault."

"You had to do it."

"I didn't  _have_  to do anything."

"You're just a bit slow on the pick up, that's all," he says gently and squeezes my hand next to him. "I shouldn't have come back. We're both fuck ups."

"I wanted you to come back."

"But I should have done the right thing. I didn't and look where we are now. I've taken it all out on you because I don't think you really know how angry I am with you. I can't get over it. I look at you and I love you and you make me so angry because... why couldn't you have worked it out sooner? I knew that you loved me years ago. When I was sick and you stayed with me and said that you didn't mind if you got ill too. I know that's nothing for most people. They'd be hoping that they would get sick so they could have a few days off work, but for you, I knew it meant something."

"It was before then."

"What?"

"I think it happened before then. I realised and I went out and bought that massive TV system, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. I fucked up your plans, didn't I?"

"A bit. What did you want me to say?"

"Now?" he asks.

"No. Last night."

"That it's not forever."

"It's not forever," I tell him. Afterwards, I wonder exactly what he means by it and what I mean by it and if it's the same thing. Some of what B said was true, I know that. I haven't allowed myself to think about it much, but when I won the election, one of the first things I thought of was that it would be my last term in power, my last term in politics and that I'd resign before the end. I thought so, selfishly and stupidly, because what would I do then? You don't stay around and take a lesser position after you've been Prime Minister. You leave and you don't come back. What would be the point of me?

"Light, how long are we going to keep doing this?"

"Do you want it to stop?"

"No," he says, rubbing his eye lazily while both of us look at the floor.

"Two more bills. Wait two more bills."

"No, not two more bills, not two more anything. I want to be with you," he sighs, but angrily. Oh, I'm so glad. I still can't trust him, but I'm so glad.

"It'll happen," I whisper, leaning towards him to kiss his cheek and let it linger there. "It'll happen."

"I need to speak to B. What if he was right?"

"Talk to me instead."

"No, because it's about you. That's why he's angry with me. It's not your fault. You can't do anything."

"L, I understand. I feel the same. I want to go home and you'll be there."

"Yes."

"And I promise that it'll happen. No more offices. One day, your furniture and my furniture will be in the same house. And it'll look a fucking mess. Go to sleep."


	9. My Nasty Reputation Gets Me Everywhere

It was going to happen at some point because it was his turn - L is playing host to a dinner party. I've been looking forward to it all day, because I just know that it's going to be terrible. Since L has some strange esoteric connection with pastry, I'm expecting a lot of pastry, calories and an early death for us all. It's been planned since Naomi's party, but I honestly didn't think that it would actually happen. The proper terminology would be that L is allowing Stephen to hold a dinner party, because L has trouble pouring hot water into powdered soup, never mind feed seven people. Seven, because B is still around. He was eventually tracked down in a park and was talked into staying for a week or so, and he shows no sign of leaving. Then again, it's only been eight days. Eight very long days.

Kiyomi blots and reapplies her lipstick three times in the car, and our driver doesn't wait until we're gone to start stuffing his face with cold yakitori. I find this very unprofessional and disrespectful, and he will be sacked for it. After Kiyomi has finished remodelling her face and we're waiting outside L's door, I feel a pang of satisfaction. Others might say guilt, but I say that it's satisfaction. L opens the door and smiles at me so brightly that I think for a minute that that's all the confession that we need to give to Kiyomi, but she thinks that the smile is for her too, and I'm thankful for her incomparable sense of self-importance.

A few feet behind L, I see B standing there, holding a thumbed copy of the  _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_ (the title is facing outwards – the pretentious bastard) and with an inscrutable look on his face, which is directed more at L's back than at me. Kiyomi goes ahead to find Stephen, wherever he is, and L whispers sweet nothings in my ear. He likes my suit and I look 'mesmeric', apparently (which is a new one on me) but he looks very casual again, so I have no compliments to return. He brings me over to B so we can exchange glares, hidden under some painful display of greeting for L's sake. B is wearing a sweater which looks heavily bloodstained, and I'm worried for a moment, but he always looks like he's just murdered someone, whatever he wears. It reminds me of Rodarte's F/W 2008 RTW collection, and is therefore an out of date statement, not being a classic, as well as looking like a woman's sweater. He's also wearing Band of Outsiders speckled wool trousers, which look very... rustic. All in all, he's a disgrace.

There's a knock at the door and L leaves B and myself to stand awkwardly like there's a queue at the doctor's surgery. I am furious with him and don't hide it. I also couldn't give a shit about him and I don't hide that either. He can't intimidate me with silence and gawky eyes. I look around the room and smile at a painting above his head. He turns to see what I'm looking at, and I walk away while he's distracted.

The rest of the house is dark, but I find my way into L's lounge anyway, which smells of rain, soil and leaves from an open window. The vodka is still behind  _Crimes Against Humanity: The Struggle For Global Justice._ I wonder if we'll ever find global justice or whether we should just succumb to vodka. The smoked wood scent of my old cigarette hits me again when I take a tumbler from the drinks cabinet. I was here and here I will always stay. On turning back around, drinking my vodka, I see the white patches of B's sweater first, fading into red and black, and his spectre-like face staring at me in the dim light. He says nothing and neither do I. The only sound is the distant rise and fall of people talking in the other room. After a few moments, he walks out. I smile to myself and raise my glass to his departure.

I think that tonight, Stephen might be leaving us. I haven't mentioned him to L, thinking that it might be best to give him some time to find the right moment to ask about Wedy before he throws him out. He should have done that much by now. I am, in truth, surprised that Stephen's still here, but L can be a procrastinator sometimes, so I'll have to give him a much required push. I'm not going to wait around forever while he skirts around the issue. He needs to be reminded of what he has to do. I want my information and I want Stephen on the next flight out of here.

The vodka has smoothed my almost manic anticipation by the time I follow B back to the voices. I like being despised. I haven't felt it since Jeevas died, and the sense of burning hatred emanating from B, who's unable to say or do anything because of L rather than any notion of social standards, kickstarts my heart. Inner tranquillity which cannot be found by any other means, surges through me because I am hated. My righteousness gorges itself. I feel reborn in a dark room and I am unafraid.

We sit at the table as Stephen and Naomi bring in the first course. What is interesting, and I think that maybe I'm the only one to notice, is that when Stephen sits down next to L, both he and L shift away from each other in their chairs. This is excellent, because it means that L is unlikely to start telling me how nice Stephen is when I finally get him alone at some point, and I assume from the frostiness that L asked him about Wedy and Stephen didn't like being asked. If it was bad news for me, L would have called me, so it's a great turn in events as far as I'm concerned. While everyone congratulates Stephen for his ability to put salad on a plate, I almost laugh at the ludicrous situation when I slip off a house shoe to fit the arch of my foot around the back of L's calf, which he extended towards me under the table. One of the first things I thought about him was that he has some unacknowledged foot fetish, so I've gone back to regularly indulging him. He glances up at me and we smile slyly at our plates while everyone chews and looks at Mikami, who's talking about how useless one of my other aides is. All of my aides are useless, including Mikami, and they might be aware of it, so they've settled into animosity and competition with the aim of proving themselves the best of a bad lot and establishing rank. Mikami has a head start, but only because he's known to be a personal friend of mine, though I show no favouritism at work. That's not done.

B is at the head of the table for some reason, which only highlights how much of an outsider he is, and is motionless apart from lifting food to his mouth with mechanical regularity. He leans back to look under the table. I watch him out of the corner of my eye and keep my foot exactly where it is. He straightens his back in disapproval and I find a new kind of pleasure from it.

Plates are cleared, more wine is poured and Stephen disappears back into the kitchen like a fifties housewife. My foot has now found its way up L's trouser leg. My sock bristles against the scattered hairs as I work my way up his shin. Some minutes later, Kiyomi is telling anyone who will listen about how pregnancy is not fun at all. She reiterates that if men had to have children, the human race would be extinct. It's a pointless opinion, but I have no energy to argue with her and no one else is in a position to. B only contributes that extinction could only be a good thing, which falls flat. While Naomi talks about her gallery's current exhibition, I hear a faint scraping noise, like nails being dragged across a blackboard. It becomes louder until everyone has heard it and look around, trying to figure out the cause. Mikami finds the cause first and shouts in what I think might be genuine terror and points at one of the windows.

"FUCK, NO! It's Freddy Krueger!"

Considering that Freddy Krueger's outside, is amazing how we all stay in our seats. We look at the window and the metal blades dragging against the glass, and I feel so little that I wonder if I'm still alive. L sighs and stands, wiping his hands on a napkin which he throws back on the table.

"No it isn't," he says. "Stephen's raking a garden fork against the window again. Stephen! Stephen, it wasn't funny the first time you did that."

He strides towards the window, shouting at Stephen as he goes, and Freddy Krueger is frightened off by a lawyer in a black Vivienne Westwood long-sleeved V-neck sweater. I can try to appreciate it now, and since it's a fine knit, it has its positives.

"I hate the country," Mikami tells us. I think that he must mean rural living and not the country as a whole, but you really couldn't say with Mikami. He speaks quietly, as though he's worried that he might offend L, but L also hates the country and he only lives here because his misanthropy is a stronger force. "If something did happen, how long would it take for the police to arrive? Still, it must be rare. No one with any sense lives outside of the city and the lions stay close to the zebras."

"You've scratched the fucking window!" L shouts. He opens the window and Stephen climbs in through it, both of them peering at the glass.

"No I haven't," Stephen laughs, and walks back to the kitchen.

"You have. Come back here. Look!"

"That's nothing. I'll fix it."

"How?" L asks, following him and disappearing from sight. "How will you fix it? With scotch tape? I wouldn't mind, I've sacrificed some windows for a laugh before, but it wasn't even bloody funny!"

It would be good manners for one of us at the table to start talking to mask the argument, so I do. I have something to contribute while I pick at my salad.

"Actually, Mikami, crime rates in rural areas are rising. Reported violent crime rose by 80% over the last ten years, compared to a 63% rise in urban areas."

"Oh."

"Yes. And sex crimes rose by 68% percent, compared with a 10% rise in urban areas. Robberies are nearly double the increase of the country as a whole. All of this just underlines how overstretched some of our smaller police forces are, and how important it is to get rid of as much of the bureaucracy as possible. There's so much red tape that it's inhumane. We're actually aiding the perpetrators, aren't we? The police should be on the streets, that's what my father believes. They should be on the streets and have more power. There should be harsher sentencing. This prefecture reported a 168% rise in violent crime." I let that sink in and eat a particularly bitter lettuce leaf.

"It must have been very low before," Mikami tries to soothe himself. Idiot.

"So that makes it ok then?"

"No... but -"

Kiyomi puts her hand on my arm, but I'm not done yet. Why isn't L here to hear this? He'd argue with me and the actual statistics from an independent survey which I've memorised. There are several variants from other surveys, but these are the worst figures. Only L could argue with statistics.

"It just seems like the world's getting worse, doesn't it? My investment in tackling it will show itself in reviews soon, but we should look at the causes. Why do people act the way they do? Is it a failing of society or are they just rotten souls? Maybe we're all rotten."

"This isn't appropriate discussion for the dinner table, Light," Kiyomi says. I'm still not done.

"The world's homicide rate is averaging at nearly seven per one hundred thousand. Did you know that? It doesn't sound like much when you say it like that, but those are just reported murders. Think of all the missing person statistics and those people buried in concrete and in people's gardens."

"It must be less than it used to be though," Naomi reasons. How strange that, a few years ago, if Penber had told her that, she would have pulled a horrified expression and sunk into the depths of despair. Now, she offsets worrying facts with inane comments like that.

"That's complacency, Naomi."

"But our crime rates are very low compared to other countries, Light."

"There shouldn't be a crime rate at all, anywhere."

"Ok, that's enough of that topic, thank you," Kiyomi states. And there ends my conversation for the evening, or I'll be condemned to having a headache. "No politics and no religion at the table. You're not in work. Eat your salad," she tells me. Eat my fucking salad?

"Take the fries in," Stephen mutters from the kitchen.

"They're not fries, they're chips," L argues. How nice to hear him arguing with his plaything over such inconsequential things.

"They're not chips.  _These_  are chips.  _Those_  are fries."

"No, you mad virgin, they're chips."

"Virginian, L, not virgin."

"I know it's Virginian and I know you're definitely not a virgin. Those days are long gone."

"Just take then in and put on another album."

"More of your shit jazz? I can't tell the difference between the tracks, never mind the albums. Ok. What would you like me to do first, dicksplash?"

"You're a dicksplash."

"No, you're a dicksplash. Don't throw my own insults back at me because that's theft, so think of new ones. You're the worst person to argue with."

"I don't want to argue with you. I just want you to take in the fucking fries."

"You're not in some mission impossible now, Stephen. You're just some dick with chips and a garden fork."

" _Mission: Impossible_  isn't about the CIA."

" _X Files_  then."

"They're in the FBI, you stupid lawyer."

"I'm a barrister! Why can't anyone get that right?"

"Get over yourself and take in the fries."

"Chips!"

"Fuck you."

"No, fuck you and your chips!"

"I'll take them then! Give them to me, fuckskunk."

"Fuckskunk?" L repeats in a high-pitched voice. Stephen reappears carrying a bowl and L follows seconds later, looking very annoyed. This is such a good night.

"Does anyone want any fries?" Stephen says cheerfully, putting the bowl in the centre of the table.

"No, thanks," Mikami answers for us all, making himself the official spokesperson. None of us want them and for probably the same calorific reason.

"Stephen insists that you stuff yourself with potatoes," L huffs out, moving wine bottles out of the way. "Please eat your chips or he might get violent."

"Do you want me to get my gun?" Stephen asks him.

"Yes. Get your gun, Annie," L replies. His expression is almost blank with aggression which is reaching a peak. I have noticed when L has spoken to me about Stephen, that it's usually closely followed by a mention of his gun, and I started to think that Stephen's gun was the highpoint of whatever relationship they had. I was jealous for a while, because I don't have a gun, but I have people who do have guns and, personally, I think that's more impressive.

"I'm going to put some tranquilliser darts in it and deal with you later," Stephen tells him, and sounds worryingly serious about it.

"Try it, you big bastard," L spits before turning to the table with a completely different, friendly tone. "Everyone finished with their salads? Horrible, weren't they? Barely edible, but it's ok, it's only salad. Is everyone alright? Does anyone need a top up or some amphetamines?"

"No," Mikami answers, clearly confused.

"No?"

"I'm good for wine too, thanks," Naomi says, lifting her glass to show him the proof. He doesn't seem content unless someone has more wine and looks at each glass until he spots Kiyomi's empty one.

"Kiyomi, you haven't got any wine! Have some wine! Stephen's such a dick not giving you wine. Dick, dick, dick."

"I can't have any, thank you. I'm... you know."

"A woman?"

"Pregnant."

"So?" he asks, tilting his head to one side as he looks at her. Stephen grabs the nape of L's sweater and drags him backwards, pulling the knit completely out of shape, and I hate him, I do. He's manhandling my... man that I handle.

"Get in the kitchen," he grunts at him. "Sorry, Kiyomi." He's now pushing L ahead of him like he's off to be guillotined. They go out of sight again, and for no reason, because we can hear them as well as if they'd stayed in the room. "Why are you trying to force a pregnant woman to have wine?"

"It doesn't seem fair. Everyone's got wine. I'm all for fairness. Everyone should have wine."

"She can't drink alcohol because she's pregnant. We went over this when you tried to give her a Bloody Mary."

"That's not alcohol."

"It's vodka!"

"The tomato juice cancels that out. I hate people to be sober when they leave my house."

"You really are a dick."

"What does that make you then? Super dick? What are you doing?" L asks. "Oooh!"

There's a sound of plates crashing, and after a moment of horror, I try to remind myself that L is very good at sticking up for himself both vocally and physically. I must trust that he won't allow himself to be molested, at least not while I'm here. Not much time passes before he appears again, smiling at everyone, so I calm myself that no real kind of assault could have taken place.

"Hello! How does everyone want their steaks? Hold on, I'll have to write this down. Fuck me, I'm a waiter now. This isn't right; I'm highly educated. Excuse me for a minute," he says, going back into the kitchen. "Stephen, you should be the waiter."

"I'm cooking shit," Stephen answers him. I now know that I will be going to bed hungry.

"There's no point doing that until you know how they want their shit, surely?"

"That's why you went in there."

"I refuse to be a waiter. I'm a host."

"Just ask them how they want their steaks."

"We should have ordered a takeaway."

"We can't give the Prime Minister takeaway!"

"He wouldn't mind. Well, he might, but he doesn't eat much anyway."

"We can't give any of them takeaway. They cooked and we should too."

"Light didn't cook. He has people to do that for him... FINE!" L shouts, and comes back inside, leaning on the table like the worst waiter in the world.

"Hello! Have you decided how you want your steaks? I know that it's a very difficult decision to make, so if you need some more time -"

"Rare," B interrupts him.

"Medium, thanks, Lawliet," Naomi says.

"And for me," Mikami nods.

"Practically charcoal, please," Kiyomi smiles at him.

"I don't care," I tell him. His face immediately sets into calm anger. A nerve below his eye twitches.

"Why don't you care, Light? You always have something between medium and rare steak just to be awkward, but now you don't care?"

"Whatever's easiest."

"Stephen's very good at cooking steaks. He can manage the full gamut of steak cooking."

"I'm sure he can, but I don't care."

"Should I just throw a piece of cow on a plate and you'll be happy? Just hack at a cow in a field and throw it on a plate?" he asks, waving his arm towards the window like there's a cow out there ready to be butchered.

"Whatever."

"Because that's easiest."

"That's fine then."

"How. Do you want. Your  _fucking._  Steak?"

"I do not care," I say again. He crosses his arms and everyone reaches for their glasses so they can pretend this isn't happening.

"Do we need to have a discussion?"

"Why would you think that?"

"You're being very rude."

"You're very rude."

"You are being rude, Light," Kiyomi mutters quietly. One thing you can rely on is that Kiyomi will always side with the person she's most frightened of. It's usually me, but in this instance, it's L, which is funny. Stephen shouts from the kitchen over the sound of a pan spitting hot oil, and if he's heating the oil first then that's completely the wrong way to cook steak. I don't know what the right way is, but I read in a magazine once that to put the oil in first will have tragic consequences. I should have read the rest of the article because apparently all men should know how to cook steak and preferably in a primitive way, but it was and still is fairly low on the agenda in my quest for knowledge. Content that Stephen's cooking the steak incorrectly, I lose my train of thought, only to be reminded when L leans across the table to point at my face.

"Listen, you better tell me how you want your steak or I'll slap you around the face with it."

"I still don't care," I say, and he exhales loudly through his nose. "I will have another glass of wine though. But not this one. It's like urine," I add and grin as I push my wine glass towards him.

"I like it," Kiyomi opines. Naomi and Mikami nod in agreement. The treachery.

"B?" L asks.

"Don't ask me. I'm spoilt. I live in France," he answers.

"Everyone likes it but you," L tells me slowly through gritted teeth. I continue to smile back at him, feeling my eyes narrowing. "I think that we better have a talk."

"Ok."

"Good. B, tell Stephen how everyone wants their steaks, please. We'll be back when the Prime Minister has made his mind up."

I stand and follow L towards the darkness of the rest of the house. Behind us, I hear Mikami and Kiyomi discuss theories about why we're arguing over steaks and why we need to discuss it.

"It'll be PR."

"What happened?"

"Someone's probably been having it off with -"

"I thought we'd be stuck in there for the whole night. You took your time," I breathe out after I've shut the door on the voices.

"I don't know what you mean, Mr Yagami," he replies, dipping his head towards me, then he switches on a table lamp and sits on the bed. What a nice room to end up in. "Fuck's sake, this is an awful party. Who thought of putting dinner and parties together? It's neither one thing or the other. Is this your idea of a party? It's like Christmas with the in-laws. Pass us a smoke then."

"I'll open a window," I say after throwing him my cigarette case.

"Don't bother. Stephen can smell these a mile away, so there's no point hiding it. He'll probably come in with a fire extinguisher, a bottle of Febreze and a dose of chemotherapy in a minute."

"He's such an idiot."

"No, he isn't," he smiles lasciviously and pulls himself further onto the bed as he looks at me, cigarettes forgotten. "Your wife is huge," he says. I can see then that he wants another session of 'insult the significant other.'

"The doctors say that she's blossoming. She tried it on the other night."

"What?"

"Yeah."

"But she's huge! Blossoming in a huge way!"

"She has wandering hands," I grin at him, enjoying how the consternation and jealousy mixes on his face.

"How would that even work anyway?"

"It is possible."

"God, Light, shut up."

"She's worried about me, she says."

"She's not worried about you, she's worried about herself. Oh! Does she think that maybe you're getting it elsewhere?"

"Maybe."

"Tricky," he whispers and lies down. His tongue flicks across his lip and settles on one of his canine teeth as he smiles at me, and that's as good an invitation as I've ever seen. I walk towards the bed and climb on top of it and him. "See, I'm jealous now. You shouldn't have told me," he says as he strokes my arm. I have to laugh at his honesty. "She could weigh you down with that stomach of hers. You wouldn't stand a chance."

"What do you suggest I do?" I ask.

"Keep a gun under your pillow." Hmmm... guns.

"Stephen seems to have more personality than usual."

"He's worried about  _me_. Aren't we lucky having so many people worry about us? More specifically, he's worried about getting his end in. I'm very tired and have a lot of headaches these days. He wants me to see a doctor."

"What a shame. Do you have a headache now?"

"No, strangely enough."

"Neither do I, we should make the most of it," I say, sounding very routine and burdened considering that my hands are up his sweater now.

"We haven't got time. And, y'know, the Sex Gestapo are outside. This is Stephen's bed," he tells me pointedly. "There are so many reasons why it's not a good idea that I'm inclined to ignore them completely."

I think he's decided to ignore them completely, since his hands are down my trousers. Belts are overrated. My mouth lags across his and everything becomes very misty and quiet somehow.

"It's your bed and I've been here before."

"Under very different circumstances, Goldilocks."

"L..."

"C'est pas possible."

"Don't you 'pas possible' me."

"Nous ne devrions pas," he sing-songs and giggles. What does that even mean? I giggle too and it's all mildly disturbing. God, we're disgusting. It doesn't put me off though. Eyes on the prize! I lean over him towards his bedside table, the surface of which has always been cluttered with odd cufflinks and other unpaired things without homes.

"What's in the drawer?" I ask, reaching inside. My hand immediately finds something which seems useful. "Oooh, what do you know? C'est possible!"

He laughs a little too loudly, and he's still laughing when I kiss him. This goes on, and I am actually considering how we should go about this. We can be quick and quiet and I like the idea of only a door and a dark hallway separating us from people and steaks. Red faces can be from a heated political discussion. No one would know, apart from B, probably, but his loyalty is to L first and there would be nothing to gain in him throwing another hysterical turn. My thumb traces the cap of the bottle as L kisses me. The edge of a small box digs into my palm and my fingers strain from holding too much in my hand. He turns his face to one side so I can kiss just below his ear, but he shouts suddenly, only to clamp his hand over his mouth immediately after.

"JESUS!"

"What?" I ask, then turn to see what he's looking at. B's standing in the doorway. "Oh fuck. He's everywhere." I lift myself up and away from L to sit on the edge of the bed while he sits up and draws his knees up against his chest defensively.

"Hello, boys," B smiles wickedly from the door, the freakish shit. I don't want to look at him, so I look at the floor instead. L sounds as pissed off as I am, but because of their stupid friendship, tries to make a reasonable point instead of throwing the lamp at him.

"B, you know when I said to make yourself at home -"

"I heard noises and wondered if there were burglars having sex in your bedroom. Look. There's a burglar and he's trying to have sex with you in your bedroom. Your French is still lovely, by the way. Informal context too. Sacrebleu! Do you two ever stop?"

He talks in that dull way in some vain imitation of normality, though he always sounds like he's restraining his natural racing way of speech. I put my cigarette case back into my pocket and let my vitriolic anger burn through him as I look at him. I watch him catch fire and be consumed by it. He turns to ash which falls like rain until there's nothing left, then he's right back the way he was. I am unashamed. I bask in the disapproval and opposition of a voiceless man who represents all the people in other rooms who don't know. In this moment, I wish he was Kiyomi or Stephen because I want to see their faces. To have all of them know and see and be told to get out of my fucking way and accept it. I don't live by their rules; they live by mine. I am accountable to no one and L isn't either because I say that he's not.

"Go away," I tell him, which makes L turn his face towards me, but he says nothing. He must know something from the tone of my voice while B can only hear the order which carries it.

"How's the wife, Prime Minister? She looks fit to bursting," B says to me.

"B," L warns him, shaking his head at his friend's foolish antagonism or, for some reason, maybe he thinks that some degree of respect for Kiyomi should be shown unless he's the one doing the disrespecting.

"Should I put the kettle on?" B asks. I look up when I see his feet disturb my peaceful view of the carpet, and he sits down on a chair against the wall. "Don't stop on my account; you carry on. I'll just sit right here, if you don't mind me taking notes. Oh, and the steaks are nearly ready. That's what I came here to tell you."

"Steaks," L sighs. "You came in here to tell us about steaks?"

"I wonder if Stephen and the wife should know about this affair of yours."

"It's not an affair."

"What is it then? One of those open relationships that your partners don't happen to know are open? Is it open season?"

"We see each other out of work about once a week. That hardly constitutes an affair. Why do you care anyway? You're hardly a paragon of morality. You say that monogamy is for the ugly and the stupid."

"Your mind is a strange wasteland. Is locking a door beyond your capabilities now? I could have been Stephen."

"Yes, well, you're not."

"But I could have been. Is Mr Pretty here just so you can get your kicks from shagging while everyone's outside? Your sexual issues are breeding, baby boy. You were never this bad. The steak argument was such a set-up, Christ, it was painful. Was it ad-lib?"

" _You_..." L starts, but blows air out to calm himself down. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I remember you saying to me not all that long ago that it was going nowhere."

"Don't take any notice of what I said."

"You also said a few days ago that there was nothing going on at all even though there really was. At least you're not denying it now, although it must be hard to deny it when you're on a bed and he's lying on top of you and you're bumping the shit out of him like you're in a Rihanna video."

"We're not doing anything wrong."

"Oh, you're in fucking dreamland, L."

"Keep your voice down," I tell him. "Actually, shut your voice the fuck up."

"You're not included in this conversation, Prime Minister, but here's an idea - ditch that lube you've got there and I'll get you some with anaesthetic in, then you've got a sauce to go with your steak."

"Do fuck off, you insane little abomination of a man."

"Ooooh, look who's been to school and bought a thesaurus!"

"That's a woman's sweater, isn't it? Rodarte, 2008, yeah? Yeah. It's not doing you any favours."

"Why aren't you in a mental institution? Why hasn't someone killed you yet? Where are the assassins when you need them?"

"Nearly 78% of voters in the last election think that I'm fantastic. Seventy eight. That's a fucking landslide. The other 22% obviously can't be saved."

"Who were you up against? A hamster and a couple of corpses? I would have voted for the hamster."

"You're just jealous. Look at yourself, then look at me. Compare and contrast and see where you're going wrong."

"I'm comparing and contrasting and what I see is an internalised aggressive, grandiose, supremely cruel, morally repugnant super-ego with a nice face. And, you know what? I've seen nicer faces."

"Can we stop this now?" L pleads despairingly. "B, don't insult his face. He's very sensitive about things like that."

"I suppose that you'd say that L has a nicer face?" I ask. B smirks like a shade of Jeevas.

"Yes, actually," he replies. Oh yes, I know that you think that. I let my head drop down while I laugh.

"Light, that's very hurtful," L says. I think that he might continue but I snap my head back up to look at B again.

"You do know that alcoholism is a valid addiction, not Lcoholism, you -"

"Oh my God, never make a joke again and zip up your trousers," L interrupts me. I look down at my trousers, and yes, it's not exactly how I wanted to look. You can only look so threatening when there's a hull breach on the lower deck. "Is anyone else finding this conversation deeply embarrassing?"

"I'm trying to stop you from making another mistake," B tells him with unexpected gentleness which makes me want to tear his throat out.

"He's nearly thirty nine!" I point out. "Why does he need you to stop him doing anything?"

"Light has a point, I don't need your guardianship, thank you," L agrees. "Apart from being an adult without dispute and of a reasonably sound mind, it isn't any of your business. It's just not on to interrupt someone's adventures, B. It really isn't. You've broken the code, the secret circle. What does Mikami call it, Light?"

"The Brotherhood."

"The Brotherhood, yes! And you've just fucked that up and fucked up a very likely fuck there for me. No one gets in the way of my fucks."

"In Stephen's bed?" B asks staring at him fixedly like he expects L to burst into tears.

"In  _my_  bed. Besides, Stephen's hardly in it since he got black ops."

"What black ops?" I ask, distracted by this. I knew that bastard was up to something! He's involved in a covert operation and L's found out about it. I could wring the CIA out to dry for this. This is worldwide front page news! L looks at me with his eyes practically glazing over and I panic. They're too close; the CIA. L didn't know how to tell me and he let it slip and it's bad news. "L, what is it?"

"Oh, Light," he whispers.

"Fuck, L, what's he done? What has he found out?"

"Stay with me for the rest of my life."

"What?"

"See that, B?" he asks the shit in the corner before turning back to me. In my confusion, I must have mistaken the look on his face for worry, when it's actually one of captivated wonderment, so I should have recognised it immediately. He's looking at me like he's seen a dozen fairies dancing in a forest. "He doesn't even know what it is. Isn't he just... I wish that I didn't know what it was."

"What is it?"

"Naomi gave him Jeevas' gamey things. It's a gamey thing called  _Call of Duty: Black Ops_. You really haven't heard of it? I love you. It's been making my days hell since he got it. You're definitely the one for me."

"A game? It sounds like complete nonsense."

"Yes. I would say that's a fair assessment."

"How old is he?"

"Thirty five," he answers and nods when my face must contort with disgust, then he turns back to B. "Anyway, you can see this bed as symbolic, if you want. But if you do, maybe it's also symbolic that Stephen always steals the sheets."

I never steal the sheets. I never did and I haven't lately because there's not much opportunity for sheet stealing these days, since beds are a novelty. If anything, L stole the sheets from me; cocooning himself while I slowly froze to death unless I put the heating on. This is another example of how superior I am – gracious and considerate, almost to a fault - and my decision to shut up and let L have the sheets did not go unnoticed longterm. I bet he often thought over the last few months: 'Light never stole the sheets. I love him in a place where there's no space or time.' At least he's learned his lesson. I'm not sure why B's even questioning L's logic, but I've decided to ignore his presence now and surrender to the joy of finding out that Stephen's even more of an idiot than I thought he was. L continues when B starts huffing and puffing to himself.

"I don't care if you approve of what I do or not. You have some vague idea of moral standards and you think that I should live by them, even if you don't. All I know is that this is my house and my bed and my Prime Minister and my dinner party and you've ruined it. You really have to stop doing that because, one day, I'm going to snap and so will your neck."

"If you can't see reason then I don't suppose that I can help you," B says in begrudging and probably temporary defeat. "At least the judge isn't here to see your mistakes. What do you think he would say, L?"

L climbs off the bed at this and walks towards B, who also stands so L won't tower over him completely. B's shorter by a good few inches, so he's never going to be entirely successful at that.

"It's not a mistake and it's nothing to do with you," L says, barely keeping his own voice down. "We're not seventeen anymore, so stop trying to look after me. And, by the way, it was really annoying then too."

He walks away then, and I think that he's actually going to leave me alone in a bedroom with B in a sweater that looks like its been stolen from a cadaver in a forensics lab. I stand up to walk after L, but he stops and goes back to B, folding his arms around him and kissing his cheek. I want to kick him in the balls for being so apologetic. It's really dented the respect I have for him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to him, now holding both his arms like he's about to tell him some plain facts. I hope he does. I hope he tells him to go back to fucking France. "Look, I know, ok. Disaster. That's what you said and that's what it is and I love you and thank you but you have to back off. It's kind of serious shit and if it wasn't then I wouldn't be involved, I promise you. I'd listen to you, I would, but can I remind you again that we're grown-ups now? I know that it's hard to believe but -"

"His wife is having a baby, L," B says, entirely unmoved. Shitstirring, point-out-the-obvious, woman's sweater-wearing -

"I know!" L shouts and cuts himself off to calm down again. "I know. It doesn't matter. People get divorced all the time. That's why we have alimony and child support. I really don't think it will surprise anyone much. He pays far too much attention to his hair."

What? What the fuck has he got against my hair? It's just envy. His hair's a mess. My hair's been voted 'Best Hair' in the  _Men's Style:Japan_  awards for the past -

"Prime Ministers never get divorced," B points out.

"There's always a first time."

"And Prime Ministers don't divorce their wives and set up home with men."

"Maybe I should talk to him," I grumble as I straighten my tie.

"There's no point, really," L says sadly, and B immediately starts shouting.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!"

"Like that's possible," L laughs. "Let's go and eat these fucking steaks, eh? You'll have to take what you're given, Light."

He does start to leave us then, and I feel like he's going to take all the humanity in the room with him, but he actually walks around the bed and I hear a drawer open and close behind me. B stares at me like it's a contest, but he breaks first, approaching me until he's looking up at me, hating the fact that I was born.

"I bet you use moisturiser," he hisses. Lame, lame.

"Looks like you could use some," I throw back at him with a smile.

"I really, really,  _really_  don't like you."

"Am I supposed to be upset about that? Just don't say anything. Know your place."

"Goes without saying, doesn't it, B?" L says from behind me. "Don't say a word or do that head rolling thing you do, ok? Eye rolling is fine, but don't roll your entire head."

L follows me on my way out the door and B stays some way behind. We sit back at the table and I try not to curl my lip at the sight of the food I'm expected to eat.

"Where have you been?" Stephen asks L.

"Talking."

"The steaks are cold."

"I'll reheat them."

"Mine's perfect, thank you Stephen," I say. It's swimming in a pool of blood. Fucker.

"I don't mind cold steak actually," L shrugs. "It's like steak tartare only luke warm. B?"

"First time for everything."

"This is lovely, Stephen," Naomi congratulates him weakly. The room now has the atmosphere of a black hole. Kiyomi whispers something to me about how I've been gone for ages and how she feels sick and I really don't know how to respond. Her steak looks like it's seen a pan. Mine is a gory lump of flesh.

"Is it ok?" Stephen asks anyone, begging for attention. A short round of approving noises go around the table while I chop up my steak and move it around the plate. "We were just talking about Naomi. She's doing a philosophy course part-time," he tells L.

"Oh. You should talk to B, Naomi. His minor is in philosophy."

"Really? How did you find it?"

"All I learned was what I knew when I started," B says in his gravelly voice. "The price of life is death."

"Oh."

"Or the price of death is life," Stephen chips in. What a cunt.

"That's very profound for you," B tells him in surprise. "Perhaps you're more interesting than I thought."

"No, he's just an eternal English student and reverses statements to make them sound profound," L says and forks his steak like he's trying to kill it. Everyone looks at him and Stephen ignores the insult, or tries to prove him wrong.

"'We forfeit three-fourths of ourselves in order to be like other people,'" he states.

"Can we stop quoting at each other?" L asks him without looking at him. "It's like university all over again, only you're making it less intelligent."

"Bitch."

"Agent Mulder."

"How many times do I have to tell you? He was in the fucking FBI!" Stephen shouts, throwing his knife and fork onto his plate. His face is like the underside of a bridge and L still won't look at him. He picks up his fork again and I smile to myself, drinking my wine casually to coat my words while I watch the fat ooze out of the steak and mix with the blood.

"They're all dickheads though, aren't they?" I say happily. "Nosing around in other people's business in bad suits and sunglasses. They should wear catsuits so they're easier to spot."

Stephen appears to be shocked by my statement. Not hurt or offended, just shocked. Yes, give that to your CIA friends, you friendly fuck and get out of my country.

L laughs at me and then sniggers as he slaps his uneaten steak over onto the other side. Having assigned himself the role of being Stephen's defender, this surprises me and apparently surprises everyone else too. Stephen turns to watch him while L continues to smile, apparently oblivious. The room is awkwardly silent, so his occasional echoing snorts of laughter are the only sounds in the room. I enjoy this moment - the betrayal and the exposed loyalty.

"What?" L asks, looking up at everyone. "It was funny."

"I'll check on dessert," Stephen informs us gruffly. He takes all the plates even though they've barely been touched, and Naomi goes with him to the kitchen. She's the sort of person who has a travel pack of tissues on her person at all times, so she might be useful to him.

"Ah, the splendid dessert," L says as Stephen leaves. "Wait for it, people. He's been doing nothing but tending this dessert since this morning, so no matter how bad it is, we must say that we like it."

"This is terrible," Kiyomi tells me. I don't agree.

"But I find that most things are edible if you put enough cream on them. And we have cream," L adds. There's another crash from the kitchen, which is followed by Naomi making some howling sound of sadness. L reaches for the wine as he talks. "Whoops! There goes another priceless heirloom from the Lawliet dynasty. Must be my dinner service."

"The Limoges?" I ask him.

"Sounds like. Stephen's getting very good at breaking them. I recognise the sound now. Sounds expensive, doesn't it?" That's sad. His Limoges dinner service is a very tasteful turn of the century design with a hand-painted gold border which only highlights the fineness of the porcelain. It's not ostentatious. It doesn't have to try too hard to show its quality. What a fuck-knuckle Stephen is for breaking any part of it.

There's another crash and I wonder what the fuck is going on in there. Inside, I'm crying for the Limoges. It's museum quality. This is as depressed as I've felt all day, despite this being the best dinner party I've ever been to. If B wasn't here, it would have been perfect, but it's still even better than I expected.

"Oooh, there goes another one!" L says, filling his glass up to the brim. "And yes, if any of you are wondering, he's doing it on purpose."

The ignorant cretin. A few minutes later, said cretin and Naomi bring in dessert (which actually looks like a fairly decent cherry marquise, if I was being honest), and the sounds of awe and drama as people are served, conclude with Stephen finally dumping a plate in front of L which looks like streak of shit.

"Oh. Doesn't this look lovely?" L smiles at the plate. "Pass the cream, Mikami?"

We eat in silence and I try not to allow my foot to carry on sexing up L's leg, because he's extremely angry and, from experience, it could easily be directed at anyone and everyone regardless of whether they're sexing up his leg or not.

"I think we're going to need more cream for this," he says and digs his fork right into the middle of his dessert so the embedded prongs leave it standing straight up like a flag pole.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Stephen shouts at him, his patience now totally shot.

"You're breaking all my crockery, that's what. What did he break?" L asks Naomi, who looks desperately torn between telling the truth and lying to hide the true damage to L's dinner service.

"Um... a bowl. But it really wasn't his fault."

"And?"

"A... a teapot."

"My teapot! We're not even having tea! That's just vindictive!"

"Yeah, and, oh no!" Stephen exclaims as he drops his plate on the floor, smashing it into pieces which skid off to all corners of the room. I look back at him like I've seen him for the very first time, only he's slightly interesting now. "There's another plate gone."

"I'm going to bed," L says after a pause and pushes his chair back from the table. Yes. Maybe he needs comforting? I wonder if that would be an acceptable excuse.

"Fine by me," Stephen mutters.

"In the spare room."

"I wouldn't expect you to do anything else."

Stephen is now grumpily eating a breadstick. He's one of those compulsive eaters in times of stress, I'm guessing. It's amazing that he still looks slightly CIA-ish even though he's eating a breadstick. I don't mean it as a compliment. I really don't imagine that I can use any excuse to see L now. Men generally don't need comforting unless there's some kind of sporting tragedy, and L's a lawyer, so by definition he shouldn't need to be comforted about anything at all, but definitely not by the Prime Minister while he's in bed. Faced with the night ending with only a little fumble which could hardly be called a fumble, now I can't think of whether the idea of L alone in bed is worse than him being in a bed with Stephen. L in bed with Stephen makes me depressed, but L alone in a bed when I'm in alone in a bed somewhere else brings a lot of conflicting, base emotional baggage to mind and makes me feel very frustrated.

So, when L stands up and walks away, I nearly stand to follow him automatically because I'm so confused by disappointment at the idea of him leaving, and overwhelmed with admiration at the vehemence of his sudden hatred for Stephen. That, Stephen's burst of personality, and that I actually feel a little sorry for him, since I've been on the receiving end of that too. I live through L's bad manners because I can't afford to be unashamedly rude these days, not that I ever could. But L turns back around with a new plan.

"Actually, no. I'm not going to bed. Light, could I have a cigarette, please?"

I'm stunned into a breathless state like everyone else until L looks at me expectantly, so I reach into my pocket. He leans across Stephen and snatches the case from my hand.

"When did you start smoking again?" Kiyomi asks me. "You said that you'd quit!"

"It's only social and I'm very stressed about life and work and your health but it's not a problem because my doctor doesn't even consider me a smoker and I can stop any time," I blurt out the prepared defence quickly, because there's something very interesting going on in front of me.

"L, don't," B says, looking at the table as he says it, but L completely ignores him.

"Light, do something," Kiyomi whispers. No. I'm quite happy to let him go for it. Like I'm going to stop him. It's the most exciting outburst I've seen since the last time he had an outburst.

"You're not smoking," Stephen tells him with some frightening authority, standing up to cement the sentiment with seriousness and stature.

"Looks like I am," L mumbles around the cigarette and cups his hand around the flame of my lighter. Stephen has another fit and knocks the cigarette out of L's mouth with some kind of chopping action he probably learned from CIA school or  _Kung Fu Panda_. There's a collective intake of breath, and L looks like a murderer who's just taking a moment to decide exactly how he's going to kill someone.

"Light, could I have  _another_  cigarette please?" he asks slowly, still staring at Stephen. Yes, yes, have all my cigarettes and have me too!

"At least smoke outside," Stephen says, backing down and picking up plates as if he's shocked himself, and the minute sliver of respect I was starting to have for him disappears again.

"This is my house and I'll set the place on fire if I want to."

"You're so selfish. There's a pregnant woman at the table and you're -"

"L, I'll go outside with you," I jump in. Yes, we're going the fuck outside.

"Thank you, Light. Pleasant company. That'd be a change," he says, directing it at Stephen, who disappears into the kitchen while L trails behind me through the dark rooms and out of glass doors. I shut them behind me with a click and the cold air makes my hot face burn as I look at the angular man I know like the back of my hand and who never bores me, both of us breathing heavily. I don't know who designed him, because it seems like a collective effort to create something ideal for me, rather than a fucked up result of fate, nature and nurture. I've been completely won over by him and his sweater.

"That was amazing," I gasp.

"I need a really hard fuck right now," he replies. Right. Every shred of him does, yes. I think of those people sitting around the table and Stephen, who's probably sobbing in the kitchen. I could go in there and tell them that's it's been nice knowing them, but please go away now. I'm tired of them.

"That might be pushing the boundaries a bit too far," I say. I don't mean it. Don't listen to me.

"We'll just say that I attacked you."

"Ok," I nod enthusiastically

He practically runs at me and pushes me against the wall at the side of the glass, kissing me before I hit it, and when I do, it jolts us it closer together. You could lose teeth this way. His cold hand slinks down the back of my trousers and I think how stupid this is. This. We should still be sitting at the table being pleasant to everyone over coffee. I should be looking proudly at how I've deformed my wife's stomach and how I've made her sick. I should be saying how we should start thinking of names because it will need one and it'd better be good, but instead, I'm pressed up against a wall by my Head of PR who's in a V-neck sweater in the freezing cold. I'm not saying this kind of thing didn't happen when I first met him, because it did, but every time I see him now, one of us ends up being slammed into something. I don't see him enough and that's the problem. Now we have no control or rationality, just promises and tomorrows.

"Wait, wait, wait," he says and takes a step away from me. Oh, he has some control and rationality. I turn the side of my face against the wall and breathe out my relief and disappointment.

"You should apologise," I tell him, and he sits on a step and rubs his eyes. The black water of the lake never seems to end.

"I'm sorry for assaulting you."

"No, I mean to everyone else."

"Why?" he asks, and I'm not sure why. He just should. It's what people should do. I sit next to him on the step and still can't think of an answer.

"Because... What's wrong with you anyway?"

"Erm, let's see," he says, putting his finger to his mouth in anticipation of the great think, but I can't wait that long and I sigh with realisation.

"Oh God, you're trying to make him leave."

"It's easier."

"It's not. L, I'm not being funny, but you never had any problem telling me to piss off."

"You're different. I never meant it anyway."

"If that's what you're going for, then he did seem pretty angry, unless he was celebrating a Greek wedding."

He turns his face to look at me as though he's astonished that I exist. Maybe no one has ever fully accepted his turbulence like I do. I see things clearly. Anyone else would say that he's acted like a twat and that Stephen doesn't deserve it, but I don't care about Stephen and I wouldn't stamp out L's barbaric diatribes for anything.

"I'm sick of you leaving," he whispers. I can't help but smile at his sadness.

"You're sick of a lot of things."

"He's just sick," a voice says from behind us. I know that it's B for ballbag. I've begun to expect him to monitor us.

"You are really taking the piss now," I tell him angrily. "We're just talking."

"What is it now, B?" L asks tiredly.

"You need a coat," he answers, throwing a coat towards him. So he's his mother now? He's not wearing a coat but he thinks that L should wear one. He'll be spitting on an embroidered handkerchief and wiping L's face next. How pathetic. "And people are leaving, thank Christ."

"Oh. You'll be leaving too then," L says to me. "You'll go and you'll take your massive wife and foetus with you."

"Yes, but we'll be in work in less than ten hours.

"Don't let her touch you up."

"I will try to remain chaste for you," I laugh quietly. It's useless to try and make sure that B can't hear me, but I don't want him to feel included. "You need to speak to Stephen."

"Yes. Yes, I actually agree with him about that," B says. L rubs his face again like he's trying to rub it off completely and B really needs to go away.

"Will you fuck off?" I know that he won't, but he needs to be told anyway. "About Wedy. L."

"I know."

"What Wedy? What's a Wedy?" B asks.

"And just finish it," I continue. "Ask him and then finish it."

"You don't have to give me orders. I will do it."

"You said that over a week ago."

"Yes, but -"

"I'm keeping my side of the bargain."

"What bargain?" B asks again. He's full of nosey questions, isn't he? "What are you making him do?"

"You are really annoying."

"Who do you think you are, giving him orders?"

"B, you are being annoying," L says. "You don't need to worry, Light."

"Because if you don't, it's over as far as I'm concerned." He needs some kind of motivation. An ultimatum which I have no intention of enforcing. "What you're asking me to do and what I'm asking you to do don't even compare."

"I know."

"L," B calls out to him, sounding quite distressed, "whatever he wants you to do, don't do it." Oh, shut up.

"Go back inside, B. It's cold," L says kindly. "Thanks for my coat."

"Aren't you going to say goodbye to these friends of yours?"

"No," he answers, drawing his knees up to his chest again like a child. "They're not my friends."

I look at B, expecting him to leave, but he doesn't.

"I'll go when you do," he tells me. He's very perceptive and fearless. You could have a conversation with him without anyone actually speaking. I can't be drawn into an test of wills now, spoken or not, so I stand, using L's shoulder as a support.

"Call me if you have to."

"Good of you," he smiles up at me, like it's obvious and it's his right to phone me. "Why do we keep surrounding ourselves with all these people?"

"They won't be around much longer."

"Don't make it sound so sinister."

* * *

My box excludes everyone outside of it. I can't stand seeing people hovering around and wasting time in the department outside, so L coming into my office without warning comes as a surprise, even though in some distant part of my mind, I was expecting him. He heads straight over to my office most mornings to report for duty like someone on community service. Every sound seems painfully loud. His footsteps are like loud heartbeats on the floor. When I push my hair back off my face, it sounds like a gale rushing through a field of tall grass. All I feel is some numbness from reality and sickness from too much coffee.

"Have you spoken to Stephen?" I ask. I don't think he expected to be hit with that as soon as he came in.

"Not yet," he says guiltily. Why am I not surprised? I sigh and walk back to my desk, falling into the chair lazily. "Light -"

"What are you waiting for? A theme tune?"

"I've had enough to deal with to start on Stephen."

"L, priorities."

"It's alright you saying that. Remind me to be as sympathetic when you tell Kiyomi that you're leaving her... You look tired."

"I was up most of the night with Kiyomi."

"What?" he asks. If I could, I'd laugh because he looks so horrified.

"Not like that," I say, only managing a slight smile. "She's sick. She's at the hospital now."

"What happened?"

"Stephen poisoned her with his cooking."

"Oh no, he'll probably kill himself. Really?"

"No, the baby's poisoning her."

"If it's trying to kill her from the womb then imagine the kind of relationship they'll have after it's born. How exactly is it poisoning her?"

"You don't want to know."

"No, I don't, but I have to know; I have to release a press statement. Why aren't you there? You're here. This looks very uncaring. Get yourself back to hospital and make sure that someone takes a photo of you looking this bad."

"I don't look bad and I've been there since three this morning," I defend myself aggressively. "She's at Sanno Hospital but she wants to be moved to Kameda, so I don't know. I'm still not sure which is the best hospital, politically. For someone who says that they're dying, she's very vocal about things. She's going to phone me. I just came back to get changed and postpone some appointments, and I thought you'd have news, but you don't, so this day gets better and better."

I want to close my eyes and put my face on the desk. The feeling is so strong that I struggle to keep my eyes open, so I stand up again to defeat the tiredness. When I do, L walks towards me and unexpectedly pulls me into some kind of bear hug. His hold is more supportive like a crutch than anything else, and my forehead falls onto his shoulder as though I have no say over what my body does now. It's not really helping.

"I'm ok, L."

"I know."

"I'm just tired."

"You've pulled a double shift, yes. You should sleep for a while before you go."

"I've had so much hospital coffee that it's more likely that I'd run a marathon than sleep," I say, pulling myself away to walk around for a while to wake myself up.

"This probably isn't a good moment, but I take it that you've read the papers?

"They haven't arrived yet. Why?"

"Oh. You better sit down for this," he smiles. Oh God, what the fuck is wrong now? I don't sit down and he doesn't wait. "Agriculture's been a very naughty boy."

"What?"

"Yes. Very long article in the  _Times_ ' early edition but I'll edit it down for you." He pulls the paper out of his briefcase. "Ahem. 'They found love in a hopeless place.' I like that subheading. 'Last Friday, we saw the Head of Agriculture, Goro Aihara, publicly attacked by the Leader of the Opposition, Akuhei Tsukino, in the Diet over his lacklustre performance as Head of Agriculture - a position he has held for only four months – being called 'hopeless' and that his 'dog would do a better job'. Today, with his competency in doubt, it has emerged that Aihara might have found solace in the arms of Shadow Agriculture Minister, Erika Kimura, who has been married for ten years and has two children. Aihara has been married for twelve years and is the father of one child.'"

"No, no, no, no... he's fucking that bitch in the Shadow? Shit fuck."

"At least they have something in common. Let's hope that those kids can make it work this time. There's a lovely photograph on the front page of them both coming out of a love hotel if you'd like to see it?"

"No."

"Are you sure? It's very sordid. Skipping on then... 'It was thought that Aihara would be allocated another department in the next reshuffle, but with this latest revelation, his position now looks increasingly in jeopardy, as the party endeavours to distance itself from past accusations of sleaze. When approached for comment, Aihara-san claimed that he 'sought to soothe his obsession and stress over his job by engaging in frantic activities such as gardening and debauchery'. Kimura has declined to speak, and at the time of print, the Prime Minister's Office was unavailable for comment.'" He finishes, closing, folding the paper and tossing it onto my desk. "Prime Minister, are you available for comment? Your MPs are rampaging around, gardening and debauching whenever they see fit. What's your opinion?"

"Bastard," I say, letting my head fall back. I can't cope with today. I'm despondent.

"It's just a flash in the pan," he assures me. "No one cares. Everyone will be more interested in you and your sick wife now, so it's a good day for burying bad news. Would you like me to sit on you. Would that make you feel better?"

"No, nothing will make feel better. Why are these people elected? How difficult is it to fuck around without the press finding out about it? We've done it for years."

"Yes, but he's an idiot and I think that we've just been lucky a lot of the time."

"I was edging him out."

"I know. You send people to Agriculture when you're edging them out."

"I could send everyone to Agriculture. You know you're up shit street when the best scenario you can think of is if someone blows up the House when I'm not in it. What the hell am I working with here?"

"If it means anything, there's a nice little column on page thirty seven which is very sympathetic to you and agrees with me that you have the worst Cabinet in living memory, or at least since the last one."

"I'm going to murder him!" I say. I'm serious. This is the most reasonable answer to my problems.

"Oh! Yes," L pants.

"I'm going to sack him!"

"Yes! Sack him!" he says excitedly, both of us gaining momentum. My exhaustion has been replaced by blind rage. This is the best idea I've had since I decided to get my suits re-tailored for a more modern fit.

"I'll sack everyone!"

"Yes! Sack me!"

"I'll sack you!"

"Light, you look stunning when you're angry. Do it."

"Get on the desk."

"Face down on today's  _Times_! Yes!"

I push him flat across the desk impatiently and he's not going to be able to walk after this. He's not going to be able to walk or sit down after this.

"Whisper something to me about prosecution after I'm finished with you here," I tell him and fight with his belt. What the fuck, belt? He lies completely still, only now he's clutching my letter opener in his hand. The side of his face is on today's  _Times_  and their photo of Agriculture.

"Prime Minister, I love my job and I love my boss. Tell me how I can change your mind."

"A disciplinary is required," I say, taking off my belt. I hope that I haven't pressed the alarm.

"Another one! Yes!"

"You're a very valued member of my team."

"Yes!"

"But you must stop making me want to sack you all the time."

"I'll try, Prime Minister."

I drop the belt on the floor... and my phone rings. L watches it vibrate across the desk in front of his eyes.

"Shit. It'll be Kiyomi," I explain, reaching for it. "Kiyomi?"

"Light, where are you?" she asks, sounding shrill with defeat. I hold the phone against my shoulder while I unzip my trousers.

"I'm in the office."

"Can you phone mother for me?"

"Why can't you phone her?"

"I can't speak to her right now, Light. I've had an awful time and it's not even ten yet. I feel really bad. You have no idea how bad I feel."

"I know."

"And I really don't want to speak to my mother. I just want to go to sleep. Why can't you be more understanding? Stephen's understanding and  _he's_  a man. What is wrong with you?"

"Is Stephen there?"

"Stephen's there?" L asks and pushes himself up from the desk. I push him back down again.

"And Naomi and my sister," Kiyomi tells me. "They're around somewhere, but I'd swap them all for you, so could you get back here please?"

"Yeah, but why the fuck is Stephen there?"

"Don't swear at me!"

"Stephen's at the hospital?" L says loudly.

"Shut up."

"Don't talk to me like that, it's not my fault!" Kiyomi shrieks at me. I couldn't move the phone away from my ear in time, so now her voice is ringing in my head. "I called him so I didn't have to talk to someone I went to school with when I was five, because she's a nurse now and found out that I'm here. Some people just think that they have a right to speak to you. I was thinking before that no one understands and now they're keeping -" She breaks off to sob and I go back to feeling despondent.

"Kiyomi?"

"They're keeping me in until the baby's born," she wails.

"Oh!"

"I don't want to stay here."

"No, no, of course you don't," I say, quiet and distracted by possibilities with my hand still pressing down between L's shoulder blades. "But you have to do what they say. It'll be for your own good."

"So are you coming back?"

"Yeah. I'll be right over. I just have a few things to do first."

"Light, my nightgown thing is made of paper and it's open at the back."

"Oh."

"It's paper! I'm not origami!"

"I'll buy you some things tomorrow."

"No, you don't know what to buy. You'll buy something stupid with feathers on that won't fit."

"I wouldn't buy anything with feathers on."

"You want me to look like a parakeet. You always do."

"I don't want you to look like a parakeet. When have I ever said to you: 'Dress like a parakeet, baby, you know how I love it!'? Give me some credit, Kiyomi."

"You're just a man though and all men know are babydolls and feathers. See-through things and -"

"Ok, I know, I'm just a man. We'll talk about it later. So... you'll be in there for how long?"

"I told you! Don't make me say it again!"

"That's a long time."

"I KNOW!"

"Well I'm really... that's... ok. I'll be there soon."

"We're never having any more children. This is IT!" she shouts.

"Definitely. No more."

"Bloodsucking, poisoning -"

"I'm in complete agreement, but now that you're there, I'm sure you'll feel better."

"Yes, yes, but I'm in a paper dress that's open at the back. Hey, what about that weird man in Agriculture and that slut in -"

"I know, I just heard."

"I never liked her. What are you going to do?"

"I'll say that I'll support him."

"Ooooh. That's harsh."

"Then I'm going to sack him," I tell her, and both she and L say "yes" simultaneously. It reminds me that L's still there and that he must be pretty uncomfortable.

"Kyomi, I have to go. I need to sack someone."

"Ok, but don't be too long. Pick me up some tic tacs on your way."

I don't think that I have a reply for that, so I end the call. L takes the opportunity to turn around on the desk while my hands are occupied, but I'm still kind of dumb from divine providence.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"The best thing. Kiyomi has to stay in hospital until the baby's born."

"That's fantastic! Hold on, why? What's wrong with her?"

"Her blood's fucked up and her heart and her kidneys," I explain. "I don't know. I don't care! You have to think of a reason why you have to stay in Tokyo."

"Why?"

"So you can stay with me, you idiot."

"But I can't."

"Er... Why?"

"I just can't, Light."

"We're going to make the most of this situation. We're going to be Kiyomi and Stephen-free and you're going to finish things with Stephen tonight. You have to. My God, I'll be able to work in any room I want without her getting in the way! I can have dinner at seven instead of eight!"

"I was going to wait until..."

"Until I divorced Kiyomi?" I ask, turning on him. "Because you don't think that I will."

"It's not that. It'll look better to the press if I wait. It'll look more honest if it happens at around the same time."

"No one believes that. When people do that, everyone knows that they've been fucking all the hours of the day. It doesn't look honest at all. It'll look like you've been stringing him along, which is what you are doing."

"There's a protocol for these things and that's it. Fuck away, but be quiet about it, then leave the people you're supposed to be with and pretend that you didn't do anything. It all happened after the fact."

"Just get rid of him. It's easy. Say: 'It's not working out. Sorry. Let me help you pack your bags.' But first, ask him about the CIA."

"You don't have a clue, do you?"

"I've dumped a lot of people. It's better when you're blunt." Yes, I am wise. "If you act sad and unsure, they think they can change your mind and then they start shouting. Do the separation thing first if you want to, so he has some time to get used to it, but get him out of the house."

"I do know how to split up with someone, Light."

"You don't want to then."

"That's not it."

"You can't have it both ways.  _I'm_  not going to put up with it. If our places were reversed, I would have had him out on the streets months ago. I wouldn't have had him in the first place, but you were obviously desperate. Ask him about Wedy, then call the airline."

"I can't do that."

"Yes you can. L, tell me that you'll do it. Are you frightened of him?"

"Of Stephen? No!" he laughs, and sits upright.

"Then do it. Do you want me to be there?"

"I don't know how B's going to react," he admits. Oh, the truth of it. I'll have to metaphorically hold his hand all the way through this. I zip my trousers back up, which reminds him about his belt, so he starts putting himself into order again too. "Can't it wait until he's gone?"

"No. Stephen's with Kiyomi now. When I see him, I'll ask if I can go to yours afterwards."

"Yes," he agrees, looking relieved. Honestly. "Tell him that I asked you to come over so you'll have some company at this... worrying time."

"And it's quicker for me to get the hospital from yours."

"But that's not true and he knows it. Don't say that. Come over, drink too much, you're very tired, you'll have to stay."

"Ok."

"Right. Well, I need to do that statement about Kiyomi. What time will you leave the hospital?"

"This afternoon. Or when her mother arrives," I sulk, throwing myself back into my chair.

"I'll release a statement at four. Leave before then. Before the press get there."

"Do you want me to write something?"

"No. A one line statement is best for now. We'll say more in a few days. She's stable, isn't she?"

"She sounded very  _un_ stable but it was mostly because of the hospital nightdress. Apparently she's ok now. When I left, the doctor said that she was ok."

"No cause for concern, just a precaution blah blah, yes. And what about Agriculture? "

"While not -"

"Hold on, I'll write it down like one of your bitching secretaries," he says, pulling a notebook out of his jacket pocket. Pen poised. "Ok, go."

"While not finding it appropriate to discuss his personal life, it appears to have no relevance to his ministerial position and the Prime Minister pledges his support to Aihara at this difficult time."

"Oh dear. No need to read between the lines there."

"And I won't be speaking to him today. He can wait until tomorrow."

"There's something to look forward to."

"But you can set some rumours off in the House, if you want. Worry him. You can do that now, actually. I have a sick bed to sit next to."

"I'll try to get home around five."

"I'll bring a toothbrush."

"There's no need to look so fucking smug about this, Light," he says moodily, slides off the desk and grabs his paper and briefcase. "Say hello to your wife and gremlin for me," he shouts back at me before he closes the door. Maybe I shouldn't wear a tie?


	10. God Bless My Socially Retarded Friends

When I get to the hospital, as I'd suspected, Stephen's sitting on a chair next to Kiyomi's bed. He's holding a basket of fruit and other pointless shit. It's a gift for Kiyomi from the Cabinet Office; I recognise their inoffensive blandness. 'Sorry you're ill. We don't actually care but we're supposed to since you're the Prime Minister's wife, so here, have a basket.'

The room falls silent when I walk in. The door closes slowly and noisily behind me like I'm a stranger who's just walked in a saloon in the bad part of town. I feel nothing but some kind of criminal intent and complete indifference to both of them. I ignore Stephen for the most part, and Kiyomi too for that matter, only troubling myself to give her a bag which holds the contents of an emptied drawer of miscellaneous silky things which a sick person shouldn't wear but she will. I kiss her cheek which she offers to me along with news of how she's feeling today. She's feeling better. A monitor next to her beeps with the steady thump of her heart, and I have no choice but to stand by the window to serve my time here until I can leave, having done my duty. Kiyomi keeps talking. For some reason, she feels the need to tell me all about how the machines and nurses are keeping her awake. Stephen must really have nothing to do if the best way he can think to fill his unending expanse of free time is to spend it with Kiyomi. He makes agreeable noises as she talks and I watch tiny cars on the road arteries below. It's quite an interesting view. Everything looks fake in it's miniaturised state, like an enthusiast's train set. I'm surprised that the window opens, because it too looks fake, and I light a cigarette. As I do, the talking stops, and I'm reminded that I'm acting inappropriately, but it's done now. I find what's inappropriate now has changed. I'm allowed to do things which others can't do without receiving a smack in the face.

A nurse comes in to check if Kiyomi has died, but she hasn't and the nurse looks visibly disappointed. She doesn't comment on my rule breaking either, so that's proof that the civilised world has laws for the masses and laws for me. I ask her for today's papers, which she brings quickly, bowing like she has a spinal problem which won't allow her to stand straight. Then I spend an hour reading the papers from cover to cover. Aihara is all over them, of course, but my improved mood prevents me from being upset by anything more than the post-fuck yellow bomber jacket he's been photographed wearing. Kiyomi asks me to move my chair closer to her, but I tell her truthfully that I can't stand the smell in this place. I must sit by an open window or I will be overwhelmed and might faint, and her heart monitor will give me a headache. She's very lucky that I'm here at all.

Watari calls me and I take the call in the room. Then L calls me and I take the call outside. I'm aware that I'm breaking every rule of how a concerned husband should act in this situation and I'm shocked at myself, I really am. I think that perhaps my tired, frustrated aggression which I would have taken out on L if Kiyomi hadn't interrupted, or Aihara in a completely different way, is causing me to dare someone to highlight my behaviour. No one does, and with every second that passes, I feel more entitled. In total, I spend about an hour and a half in the room, which I think is more than enough time served, so I end my visit by telling Stephen L's message that I'll be coming over tonight, so he'd better get the hoover out. He nods and doesn't look too pleased. Maybe he should spend less time bitching and more time learning how to cook?

In my whole time here, the only interesting thing to happen is that Kiyomi asked Stephen how L was, and she was very clearly expecting him to break down into tears. He said that he didn't know how he was, but I suspect that he'll have more to say after I leave. I want to point out how B, his guest by association, has been presumably left unattended while he sits here holding a basket full of grapes and tissue paper, and I would point it out if I gave enough of a shit. He mentioned how he's thinking of getting a puppy. I snorted into my _Yomiuri Shimbun_  broadsheet but it drew no comment. I have a prepared list of things to say to Stephen if he says one critical thing against me, but he doesn't, so I must scatter my annoyance elsewhere. I reenact my hello/goodbye kiss on Kiyomi's cheek immediately after she tells me that her mother is coming over on the train to visit her shortly. Today would be a wonderful day for a disaster on the rail network. It is now one o'clock.

Back at my office, Aihara is crumpled outside, reeking of a dismantled life, anxiety and stale sweat. I could sack him now, but L would be very disappointed in me that I didn't wait for him. I also think that Aihara needs a weekend of further insecurity before he learns his fate. I tell him that I'll try to find some time this afternoon if he wants to wait around until then. Instead of asking for a fixed appointment on another day instead so he could, I don't know, work instead of making my waiting room look untidy, he thanks me voraciously and sits back down to ponder his useless existence while I alphabetise my bookshelves and remove dead people from my email contacts.

At three, I write a draft of a press statement about Kiyomi for L to toss out on Monday. That takes me five minutes. I am then completely at a loss for things to do, so I have a shower and change my suit. I received a suit as a gift from a very wealthy businessman in exchange for influence, and this is a good moment to inspect it. Accompanying the suit were two envelopes. One held a large cheque made out for the party and the other held a large doorstop-sized wedge of cash for me, which I will find some way to launder. There was also a letter which I spent a long time laughing at. It said, among other things: 'I feel that, given my accumulated experience and deep sense of public service, as well as being able to devote the time to undertake the responsibility effectively, I would be able to make a contribution to the parliamentary process.' No, but I will take your suit and money.

The suit is a martini fit and I'm not convinced that it's right for me, but when I try it on, I'm assured that it is. It's a fitted drop seven jacket in a wool and silk black pinstripe, partially interfaced with animal hair beyond the first button, has a 2¼″ lapel – thank God, because if it was any wider then I'd look like a gangster – slightly saddle shoulders, four working buttonholes at the cuffs, embellished with edge stitching on the collar, lapel, pocket flap, on the opening of the welt on the pocket and on the opening of the cuff; silver piping on the placket with hand stitching between the placket seam and the lining, three inside pockets including a chequebook holder and triangle tab fastening with buttonhole and button, and a small left pocket constructed in the lower part of the lining. I think I'm pleased with it, so I remove the tacking on the shoulders and the cross stitch on the centre back vent. It's mine now.

I try to doze on my lounger but I can't. Caffeine and impatience won't allow me to, so I speak to the chief of my security to tell him that I'm staying with some friends tonight. Yes, tonight, possibly tomorrow and possibly until the end of time. He questions me about who and where and how long for, all of which I gloss over by talking about Kiyomi being at death's door in an expensive hospital. He sounds very understanding but I don't need his understanding; I just want him and his lackeys to leave me alone until I need them. I need to be looked after by caring friends and to watch my Head of PR sack the CIA so we can fuck instead, unimpeded. He says that it must be very stressful for Kiyomi and myself. I hum sadly in reply, but after the call is over, I think about how untrue it is. It should be very stressful, yes, but it's not; I've been ecstatic since I heard. I feel angry at Kiyomi for latching onto my life. I feel like I've been forced into marrying her, even though I know that's not the case. It was my idea, I set the ball rolling and lay back and let it happen and I turned up on the day and played my part but now I feel so resentful of her. I'm glad that she's in hospital because I'm effectively free again now, however temporarily. I would spend every spare moment available to me following L around. I think of the things he's said that are full of promise and of other things he'll say and do forever. Things that I don't find interesting in the least but they stay in my head, like how he said that he's always wanted to go to Bora Bora just so he can say that he's been to Bora Bora. He'll stay in his cabin on the cruise ship because the idea of cruise ships reminds him of prisons, step onto the shores of Bora Bora just to say that he has and then go back to his cabin because the sun hurts his eyes. Grey skies are his natural climate. Grey skies, rain on the windowsill and dancing winds. I think that every second we're apart, I'm missing out on such useless gems, and maybe I'll still receive them anyway if the situation ever calls them up, but extended over a period of time instead of a more constant flow and exchange. I want his thoughts and opinions so I can ignore them or laugh to myself when I hear someone mention Bora Bora on TV. I pack a bag with a change of clothes and don't forget my dental floss and other necessities. I'm done here.

Aihara is still outside and he stands when I leave my office. Unfortunately I haven't been able to clear my diary for him, but if he could come back on Monday at 11am, I'll see him then. L will be there with a resignation letter ready for him to sign, but Aihara has no idea about this yet. My smile makes him hopeful, and he will crash like a plane with no engine on Monday morning. Now that my coast is clear of insignificance, I tell L that he's my chauffeur and I hang around his office instead until six o'clock. I couldn't possibly drive myself, I'm far too distraught. He thinks that I look like a pimp's illegitimate son.

Since L accidentally on purpose took a wrong turn on the way to his house, it's nearly eight o'clock by the time we arrive at his front door. The desperation that's kept me simultaneously exhausted and awake all day disappeared when we were on the final stretch of road to his house, because then I wanted him to drive right past the wooden shell and the cretins inside it and just keep on driving. But there's a very good reason why I'm here and I must see this out. If left to his own devices, L would probably keep playing the avoidance game, and it's very important that he not only gives Stephen his marching orders, but also finds out the extent of this Wedy situation. How can I be expected to counter this gutless attack if I don't have some idea of what's going on? Besides, I'm sure that there'll be a lot to enjoy in this.

I hold my packed bag and stand next to L as he hesitates at the door and looks at me for last minute reassurance. Inwardly, I roll my eyes at him. Outwardly, I kiss him as a prelude and a reminder, then settle back into a lip-licking smile. Fucking do it, you stupid bastard. He says that he wants to see me in his bed again. Yes, well you know what you have to put me in it; stop fucking around. But he needs some gentle encouragement and support because he can't control himself from rallying against direct orders and aggression, even from me. Especially from me. I tell him that I'd  _like_  to be in his bed, which does the trick, because he sighs out an 'ok' and opens the door. As I am here, I herald Stephen's final hours and I'm surprised that there's not an ominous crack of lightening as I walk in. I smile when I see B, and drop my bag by the door while L mutters something to him, switches off the TV and heads for his bedroom, taking his jacket and tie off as he goes.

I sit at the table to await whatever comes my way, and when L returns he's changed his suit for a sad-looking v-neck t-shirt, equally sad-looking slacks and a manically depressed cardigan. He looks like he's going to a dentist's in Siberia. He skulks into the kitchen and I hear him tell Stephen that I'm here. I don't catch Stephen's comment – which I'm sure was electrifying – because B makes more noise than he has to when he sits at the table as well, only making sure that there are a few empty chairs between us. He's brought a book with him and everyone knows not to read at the table, that's basic good manners. L comes into view in the kitchen and he looks at me as he opens a cupboard. I smile, he smiles back weakly and I don't now what his fucking problem is. Then Stephen's behind him, holding what looks like a horrendous gold ornament in front of L's face.

"He's very sorry," Stephen says. Game over. Stephen's talking to inanimate objects.

"You don't need to apologise for anything and neither does that. Whatever it is," L replies.

"It's a golden rabbit. It's also chocolate. Say hello, you're made for each other."

"Why is it wearing a ribbon with a bell on it?"

"Don't question the golden rabbit. It has reasons beyond our understanding."

"Thank you for my golden rabbit," L says sadly.

"Are you staying for dinner?" B asks me. Oh, shut up. L's doing a shit job at breaking up with someone here. I might need to intervene and do it for him.

"What?" I say, still looking at L, Stephen and the golden rabbit while I try to catch their conversation. "Yes. Yes, I'm staying for dinner."

"You invited yourself then?"

"No, L invited me. Would you mind not speaking to me? I'm tired."

"Oh, yeah. I heard that your wife's in hospital. Did you put her there?"

"Not intentionally."

"Was work ok?" Stephen asks L, who's now facing him and tearing up the golden rabbit. "Do you know if the Prime Minister has eaten? Because I don't know if I've got enough and it's not Prime Minister food, y'know? I made cheeseburgers. Does he eat cheeseburgers? I'd like to see him eat a cheeseburger. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. He can have my cheeseburger. I'd also like to see him eat one but I think that might be the world's reboot button."

"He can have mine. That's something worth seeing, so I'm willing to starve for that. Can I eat the golden rabbit's ears?" There's a brutal snap as the rabbit is torn apart. L is doing such a terrible job at this.

"Why would he invite you," B interrupts me again even though he must see that I'm busy. "Don't you have servants to feed you and cater for your every whim?"

"They're employed and well paid by the state," I rush out in reply. He says something caustic but I try to drown him out because Stephen's gone mad again in the kitchen.

"What, what, what, what?"

"What?" L asks him.

"I asked  _you_  that. You're doing that sad thing you do when you want to ask me something but you won't, so you just do that sad smile thing instead."

"I don't do a sad smile. If I wanted to ask you something I'd just bloody well ask you, Stephen." That's better.

"Okaaaay," Stephen sounds out, turning away from him.

"Are you still working for the CIA?" Oh, thank God for that. I wish that he'd waited until they'd brought my food in first, even if it is a cheeseburger, but I can wait.

"Huh?" Stephen says, turning back to him in shock. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Are you?"

"Er, no. I left. You were there when I emailed them my resignation."

"I know, it's just... you're out a lot."

"Am I supposed to stay in the house?  _You're_  out a lot."

"Yeah, but I have a job," L tells him. "Two jobs. You don't have one, which I'm not saying is bad so don't look like that, but you're not in your boat because it's in dry dock in my garage, and my car's outside getting rained on when really your boat should be outside getting rained on because it's meant to get wet anyway."

"You're asking me what I do all day?" Stephen asks, crossing his arms.

"No. Don't say it like that. I'm not some 'what do you do all day, I work so hard and all you do is watch TV and spend my money, where's my dinner?' person."

"I have my own money. You haven't paid for anything around here for months. And there's your dinner," he says, pointing to something out of sight which I can only guess is a cheeseburger. L loses his stride when confronted with it.

"I... agh. I didn't mean that. I meant -"

"Because you'd fucking starve if I didn't feed you."

"I know that's a strong possibility but -"

"And I don't spend your money. Do you want me to pay rent?"

"No, I don't want you to pay rent."

"Because I can. I paid the electricity and the water bill for the last two quarters, but I didn't say anything and you didn't notice," Stephen says, puffing up with indignation.

"They're direct debit, aren't they?" L asks. Fucking hell, why doesn't he get to the point? I don't care about his water bills. I care about Wedy.

"You haven't set them up," Stephen tells him.

"Oh. Well, thanks for that, but you should have left them, they're my bills. Are you opening my letters?"

"They had 'final demand' stamped on the envelopes and they were on your desk for a two weeks and you didn't open them, so yeah, because I wanted to do something nice. Someone had to pay them. I don't go around opening your letters!"

"I... Look, I'm sorry. I know you don't open my letters and it  _was_  nice of you to pay the bills. You're great in every way. I'm sorry," L mumbles. I can barely hear him. I really don't understand how he's ballsing this up. He's a lawyer, so he has a head start there, and I'd feel sorry for him but he's done far worse things to far better people than Stephen without cause and without batting an eyelid. Stephen's not great in any way, so that's just an outright lie.

"Yeah. Whatever you say," Stephen blusters out. "Since when have you not trusted me?"

"I do trust you."

"I thought we shared bills."

"You've only been here a few months."

"So?"

"Well -"

"We're adults, aren't we? Adults share bills."

"How can you pay though, Stephen? I mean, what kind of savings do you actually have?"

"Do you want to see my online statement?"

"I just don't know what you do when I'm not here and... God, that sounds bad."

"Yeah, it does," Stephen says angrily and takes on the body language of the unfairly injured. "Ok. When you leave, the world just stops. I go into standby until you come back and then I make your dinner, you fucking caveman." Ha. At least he's not a doormat though, eh, you enormous smear of wank. L's not offended like I expect him to be, he shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck instead. He's letting me down very badly here really.

"Stephen -"

"No! I walk, read and, yes, I watch TV. I'm also fixing your patio because it's rotting underneath, but you didn't notice that either."

"Wait, the patio's rotting?" L asks. Fuck the patio!

"Yeah. One day one of us would have fallen through it."

"That never showed up on the survey! I've been fucking had!"

"Yep."

"But... it's just this Wedy thing. Do you know anything about it?"

"Wedy? Not since I left, no. Why would I? They wouldn't tell me anything."

"Your friends are dragging politicians in for questioning left right and centre."

"Not my friends. Sounds more like the FBI," Stephen shrugs. "They do things like that and blow cover and have friendly chats with people. They're dickheads."

"The FBI are here as well?!" L asks in surprise. I'm surprised too. How have all these fucking people managed to get into my country without anyone thinking that maybe I should know?

"Probably. They usually make themselves known. So? Why do you care?"

"It's my job."

"It's your job to care? What are you, the mother hen to politicians?"

"I have to cover it up. It's not very easy for me when they're pulling people out of their houses, bundling them into black cars and scaring them to death. Really. This useless old codger was called in, saw that the NPA are involved and now he's in hospital because of his angina. He's somebody's granddad, Stephen. He must be, he's old enough. And we know how you love your granddad and now it's looking like you've killed someone else's. That's your fault, that. You and your friends with your flippy badge... things. So what the fuck's going on?"

"I don't know, L. I don't know why you'd think that I'd know."

"Because you were in the CIA and you were working on this case and you said that it had wrapped up but it hasn't wrapped up."

"They must have changed their minds then. Last I heard, it'd wrapped up for us. This food's getting cold," he says, and picks up a plate which L takes out of his hands and puts it on the counter next to him.

"'Us'? You  _are_  still with them!"

"No, I just can't get out of the habit."

"Once a spy, always a spy. Is there an old boy's club or something? What have they found out to make them change their minds?"

"Shit, L! I don't know!"

"Why have you made L do this?" B asks me. Piss off, I'm watching this.

"Are you still working for them?" L asks Stephen.

"This is fucking insane."

"You wouldn't have had to tell me. I won't be angry. Not that angry, anyway"

"I would tell you. I wouldn't have left and I did leave."

"Join again," L tells him. What?

"What?" Stephen asks. Well, yes.

"Until the investigation is closed."

"Why?"

"Because Light..."

"Light," Stephen repeats after him with some healthy dose of irritation. I don't like it when he says my name. I've never given him permission and he makes it sound ugly. "He's asked you about this, hasn't he? You want me to spy on my country, because they represent the interests of my country, for your Light?"

"He's not  _my_  Light, he's my boss. God, you're so boring."

"Yeah, I'm really boring, L. You work for the government, not him."

"He's head of the government, so he  _is_  my boss. I don't work for some faceless organisation."

"Like I did, you mean?"

"Well, you did."

"Yeah, I did.  _Did_ , L. I don't know why you give so much of a shit about your Light. What a made-up fucking name," he laughs. No it isn't!

"What's his name got to do with it?" L asks. L likes my name more than my parents do and he'll defend it to the death, though it doesn't stop him from ripping the piss out of it at every opportunity. It's also the only reason why he'll speak to my mother if they're in the same room.

"It's made up."

"It's not. It's on his birth certificate, unlike Krystal with a fucking K's. It's a nice name."

"It's a nice name," Stephen parrots sarcastically. "Are you in love with him?"

Oh dear. This will end up with blood on the floor. I push my chair back from the table so I can get in there quickly if I have to. We can bury the body together. L must see me move and looks at me, I look at him, Stephen must see this mute discussion about how best to dispose of a CIA agent who knows too much - at least, that's what I thinking about - and then pulls L off out of sight. I stand up and stare at where they were standing. I should go in there and get myself out of this conversation.

"What have you done?" B says to me. "This is the fucking problem when there's a house full of gays. You're one too many! Queens and bisexuals are the worst fucking things to have in the house."

"Fuck off," I whisper, not really paying attention. "Go and see what's going on in there."

"No, let them talk, you nosy bastard."

"Are you?" I hear Stephen say. "You must be."

"Don't be stupid. Light's -"

"He's the Prime Minister, he's not Light. He shouldn't be, anyway. Not to you."

"I've known him for nearly five years, Stephen."

"So you've been in love with him for a long time then."

"I'm not... Where has this come from?" L asks, suddenly sounding very angry, which makes me feel better, so I sit down again. We'll bury him another day. "I've got to hand it to you, you're very good at deflecting and turning the tables with something completely random. This isn't about him, this is you trying to dodge my question, and if it's a stupid question then fine, but don't start accusing me of ridiculous things."

"But he's all you talk about. Light did this and Light did that and Light said this and Light said that and now Light's sitting out there and he's going to eat my cheeseburger! You said that -"

"What I said wasn't true, I told you. I was angry with him, so I made shit up. Stephen, you know I made him, and if the press find out about this Wedy thing and go mad then he might not see it out."

"So you didn't have an affair?"

"No."

"I don't believe you. I mean, I didn't believe you when you said that he was homophobic, because he obviously thinks you're great. He's here all the time, or he's working in that house and you're over there, or you're on the phone to him."

"That's a bit of an exaggeration, Stephen. Can't I be friends with someone without you thinking that something else is going on? You're the same about B."

"It's obvious that there's nothing between you and B."

"Hey!" B says loudly, causing me to look at him for a second. He's sitting in a chair next to me now, both of us looking towards the kitchen and the voices that come from it, but with different levels of concern. He's sorting M&Ms out of a bowl on the table into rows of colour in front of him. "Actually, I'll forgive him for that."

"And of course you can be friends with whoever you want," Stephen continues. "But you must be following him around when you're at work too because that's all I hear about your day, so the one thing I believed is that you had an affair."

"We didn't have an affair, don't be so fucking dramatic."

"Are these work meetings in the city or are they dinner dates with him?" Stephen asks. Shit, fuck, fuck.

"He's got a point there. The worm turns," B comments.

"What?" L nearly shouts. The truth always makes him angry. I think he's ok now.

"Kiyomi said," Stephen says. Kiyomi, why can't you ever shut up? "He's been out a lot more over the last few months, and now that she's in hospital, he's probably out all the time. Like you're out a lot more than you used to be. You're doing a lot of late nights in the office, and when you're not, you're texting someone or other and I think it's him. Unless you're seeing someone else I don't know about."

"I text loads of people!"

"Like who? Who are your friends?"

"B."

"So you text B when he's in the same house as you?"

"No, I text Mihael sometimes. Miscellaneous people. I have friends! I don't even know Light's number because he has to change it all the time. Ask him."

"I don't need to."

"How am I supposed to defend myself if you won't listen to my witness statements? You're challenging the validity of my evidence? I demand an independent body to sit in and listen to  _all_  the evidence, not just these stupid ideas you've made up. It's all hearsay anyway and that's not admissible in this case. I'm sorry, but this is very unfair and an abuse of process argument and it'll lead to a judicial review."

"L, we're not in court. This is me and you and we're having an argument. Forget about the texts then, maybe you just really like Twitter or something, but you're always at work or he's not far away and you can't deny it."

"It's overtime and he's not here that much. This is the first time he's come here on his own and when he's in the boathouse, he's working."

"On the book."

"On the book," L says. Yes, on the book. L's just proofreading it. I haven't written anything yet but that's entirely beside the point.

"What's he writing about?" Stephen asks.

"I don't know, you'd have to ask him," L suggests. God, I don't know what I'm writing about!

"Are you actually telling me that you haven't asked him what he's writing about even though you spent ten minutes talking about scented candles the other week?"

"I would think that it's classified and private business, Stephen, I'm not one to pry. I'm really sorry that his conversation isn't literary and thought-provoking enough for you right now, but his wife hasn't been very well. Give him a break. If he wants to unwind and talk about scented candles then he can talk about scented fucking candles."

"Kiyomi thinks he's away from her a lot because of the baby but it's not, is it? Maybe it is, but it's more because of you."

"Now you're just being stupid. Even more stupid."

"If you were a friend to him, you'd be telling him to go back and see his wife and talk to her about scented candles, but you're inviting him over here without talking to me about it or letting me know."

"You weren't talking to me and I honestly thought that you wouldn't mind. I've never said anything when you bring your old CIA friends over."

"No, you just go to bed."

"Because they're boring."

"And scented candles aren't boring?"

"Light's my friend. I haven't got that many."

"You've got B here and you've completely ignored him."

"I haven't 'completely ignored him'."

"Like you've completely ignored me, only you've ignored me a while now."

"I'm so sorry, Stephen. What was I thinking, putting myself before your conjugal rights? Which you don't have, by the way, and I'll explain why. Firstly, we're not married, so constructive abandonment wouldn't fly and no court would listen to you anyway; they'd sympathise with me because you're such an idiot. Secondly, how very 1901 of you, and thirdly, fuck you!"

"It's not about that. I'm worried about  _you._ "

"That's what you say but we both know what you're worried about."

"This is your fault," B tells me. Yes, and fuck you too.

"That's so unfair!" Stephen shouts. I sense the end. I might as well go and unpack now. "I came back from the US and you were like this. You weren't like this before. Is it because I asked you to meet my family?" he asks. Well, it wouldn't have helped.

"No. Why does there have to be a reason? I just don't feel like it, that's all there is to it."

"It's not my fault that they asked you questions."

"Yes, I found out that interrogation runs in the family."

"What have I done to fuck you off?"

"I don't know, Stephen."

"This isn't working."

"No, it's not."

"Well? What do we do to fix it? Or are you just not interested at all?"

"I really don't know. How to fix it, I mean," L mumbles. No, L. Blunt, punchy, not working, bye.

"Are you saying that we can't? L."

"Why should I have all the answers? If you're not happy and I'm not happy then I don't know what to do about it."

"There are too many people around. When it was just us, we were fine. We were more than fine. I put up with a lot of shit from you."

"I do with you! You're always doing that Black Ops thing or polishing your fucking boat or saying: 'Hey, let's go for a walk in the mountains!" No, Stephen. I'm not climbing up any mountain. Do I look like a person who climbs up mountains?"

"Maybe you should."

"Was that a dig?"

"Just saying that you're losing weight again."

"I have an aristocratic build."

"I thought that aristocrats were fat."

"Not unless they drink port. When they don't, they look like me only they wear wigs sometimes."

"Ok then, but I still went away and you weren't even talking to him before if you could avoid it. I come back and you do anything to avoid me but you're all friendly with him. What the fuck? You were totally different. I'm your  _partner_."

"I've always been friendly with him. Mostly. He's my friend."

"What kind of friend?"

"Can we talk about this some other time? Like never? He's right outside and so is B and I don't really want to air our dirty laundry in public like this."

"Are you having an affair? I'll ask him, I don't care. Who he is doesn't impress me at all."

"Which is why you only refer to him by his job title. No, we're not having an affair, or if we are then I haven't noticed and I'm sure that it'd be news to him. I love that you think that you're so great that if I don't fawn all over you, your conclusion is that I must be having an affair with anyone I'm on fairly good terms with."

"L, I could find this out and it wouldn't take me very long."

There's silence then and it seems to string out for a long time. I turn to B to see if he looks worried, but he just smiles up at me smugly, so I swirl my fingers through his carefully constructed lines of M&Ms.

"Find it," L says.

"You're daring me to find proof?" Stephen asks, clearly surprised.

"Yes. Find proof."

And there's another long pause before Stephen answers with the words I've longed to hear since that night on the bar boat restaurant thing.

"I think I should leave."

"Maybe that's a good idea."

"I'll get a flight back tomorrow."

Oh! This gets better! I look at B to see his reaction, and he appears to be very shocked, so now it's my turn to look smug. His lips twist into a thin line and he throws a sweet at my face. I blink as it hits my cheek, then carry on smiling at him. You're next.

"You can't leave the country," L blurts out. What? Why not? "All your stuff is here and -"

"My stuff. So, it's not about me, it's the logistics of me moving out that's the problem?"

"No! Look -"

"You're in a bad fucking way, man," Stephen tells him. He appears in the doorway of the kitchen and holds onto the door frame. His arm squares off L's face into a perfect portrait. I want to take a photo of it. "About my stuff and me, if you give a shit, I'll get a room in town tonight and if you want to talk tomorrow then we'll talk tomorrow. If you don't, then I guess that I'll hire a moving van."

"We'll talk now," L says

"But the Prime Minister's come all this way to see you. To see you, L."

"He came with me..." L corrects him for no fucking reason and then looks stupidly guilty, which only makes Stephen's back stiffen with anger. If any wicked whispers start circulating, I'll know who to gun for.

"Yeah, of course he did," Stephen nods. "I might be crazy, but I think being Prime Minister must be a really busy job. You'd think he'd want to spend any time he does have with his wife, but he comes on a two hour round trip with his PR man for drinks and cheeseburgers? You haven't even mentioned anything about work."

"He's finding this pregnancy thing difficult."

"Oh, never mind the violin, let's get a whole string fucking quartet. I'm sure that it's more difficult for Kiyomi," he says, walking back inside the kitchen and out of sight again. L's eyes follow him but he doesn't move apart from that. Oh, Kiyomi, Kiyomi, his heart bleeds for Kiyomi. Why doesn't he care that I can obviously hear him? Why can't they just break up without bringing me into it?

"Do you have no understanding?" L asks him.

"No. I'm thoughtless in thinking that Kiyomi's the one who's finding this difficult when it's actually him who's finding this difficult and inconvenient. The only person you have understanding for is  _him_ , to the point of condoning his shit behaviour. He needs to go back to his wife and look after her and listen to her moan about her legs aching and her back aching and having something kick her in the bladder all the time."

"He was with her today and all last night. He hasn't slept at all. Look at him, he's knackered."

"Big fucking deal. He should be. He came in while I was there and he didn't even say much to her. Didn't ask how she was. He had a cigarette and sat there and read the papers in his suit and took phone calls and yes, he looked incredible, despite being knackered, I'm sure you noticed. What is with his attitude? He thinks he's God's gift but he's a politician! And what the fuck does 'knackered' mean, anyway? You use words that sound like they're out of some World War One cookery book."

"It means that he looks tired, not incredible."

"Ha! Well, you'd know better than me."

"Your attitude is fucking appalling."

"Yours is worse. That ex you mentioned, the one that treated you mean and kept you keen. It's him isn't it?"

"What?!" L asks. I'm very confused by this. Why L would make any reference to me to Stephen of all people? Why would he speak about me in the past tense? And why would he say that I treated him mean and kept him keen? I just kept him keen, but I was hardly ever mean. Not much. And it doesn't matter, anyway, because I'm really nice to him now nearly all the time, but still...

"From what you told me, it'd sync with you going to London and him marrying Kiyomi," Stephen the Intelligence knob of the decade decides. He might be right, but he's still a knob.

"Bollocks. When did I give you a timeframe about my exes anyway?"

"Third date. We were talking about exes. Do you remember mine? The one I knocked out when he stole my iPod."

"His name was... Nick."

"Close. It was Tom. I knew that you weren't listening."

"Why should I care about your exes!?"

"Just general interest in other people when they're trying to talk to you, L."

"I don't even know Tom. He's not my ex. Why are you interested in mine?"

"You can't understand. Name one of his exes."

"Whose?"

"His. Him in there."

"Erm..."

"Come on. I know that you know one."

"Misa Amane," L answers. Correct! Oh, hold on, maybe he shouldn't have answered correctly.

"Oh! So you do know one of his. You were interested enough in that."

"She was slightly famous, that's the only reason. If your Tom was Tom Selleck then I would have remembered him too."

"No, you're interested in him and I don't know why. I don't know why he's your friend. You don't have anything in common apart from you both having a shit sense of humour and you like laughing at people. You're both mean."

"He's not mean," L says sulkily. No, I'm not mean. I'm controlled, you prosaic fucking arsehole.

"He is. When he turned up at the hospital he looked like he'd rather be somewhere else and all he said was that you'd invited him over to ours tonight. Then he took a phone call and you're not supposed to take phone calls in hospitals, not when your wife is hooked up to a heart monitor, but then he was smoking as well, so there you go. He had to be reminded to kiss her goodbye."

"Oh, I'm sure that you were the one to remind him. You're like some insane marriage counsellor. I don't think he would have expected you to be there, Stephen. You're always interfering in other people's business and people don't like that."

"She wanted me there. He doesn't spend any time with her because he's here with you, and you encourage it and you want him to be here. I have to listen to her moan about everything, and it's not me she wants to moan to, it's him."

"I'm sure he listens to her. She's very moany and you're easy to moan at. Just think, he must get that all the time, which is something we have in common," he says. Stephen laughs sourly but then he's quiet for a few moments. I wish that I could see what's going on.

"I knew that you were... I mean, I didn't expect us to be practically married. It was just handy for you to have me in your house. I didn't annoy you much and I cooked and everything, but now I suppose I'm in the way, yeah? You were different before. L, you know that I really... But you're not the same. You don't love me the same. If I thought that you talked about me the way you talk about him, I'd be really fucking happy, you know? But I don't think you do. And I feel sorry for you."

And Stephen goes. He doesn't stop in the doorway, he grabs his coat and he disappears down the hallway. For some reason L rushes after him.

"Stephen, stop. This isn't fair. I'll go," he says. No! Why should you go? This is your house and I'm in it and I'm staying! I suppose that he could come back with me to the Kantei. B's definitely not invited though.

"Yeah, take the Prime Minister with you. Go together. Get a hotel. No, I need to get out of here. Maybe I have been in this house too long. I'll call you tomorrow if you want to talk."

The door opens and closes and rattles. A car engine roars and gets further and further away until it's gone. He's gone. I could be happier since I didn't expect to feature so strongly in that finale, but it's easier for thrown away people to blame a third party. He'll go off and meet some nice mild mannered and boring little nobody and the only thing he'll have left of L is the boat he bought him. I'll let him keep it as a memory of a man who wasted his time with him for a few months. I wonder if you can heat up cheeseburgers. Is that safe?

I turn around and lay my hands flat on the table, and it's only then that I realise that B's gone too. Back on his broomstick and not so much as a puff of smoke left behind. L still hasn't come back inside, so I go to find him and ask him about how to reheat cheeseburgers. The last thing I want is to get botulism from Stephen's last dish of the day. L's leaning against the wall by the door, so I lean on the wall opposite him. He looks up at me while he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You heard that?" he asks.

"He wasn't quiet about it, was he? I guess that we can presume that he's not in the CIA then."

"You really thought he was too?"

"Yeah. Like they wouldn't want to exploit his situation."

"Are you happy then?" he says with a slack face, blinking slowly. "He's done nothing wrong and he's given up a lot for me and now he's staying in a hotel room. The hotels in town are shit."

"It's not my fault."

"No, it's my fault."

"You know I hate him, but that's because of you. If he was my friend, I'd say that he deserved better. Because what he said was true."

"Maybe  _I_  deserve better. Maybe I deserve him."

"But you're not happy with him, L. You like him. I'm sure he's likeable in a boring way and I'm never going to pick up your used tissues when you have a cold because you can fucking do that yourself, but you're not happy with him."

"You're not going to be here all the time though. I hate this house."

"Move to Tokyo then," I say.

"No."

He smacks the back of his head against the wall not all that gently before he stares at the ceiling. I hope this guilt trip doesn't last too long. I shift across to stand beside him and look at the same shadowed wall above our heads.

"You know when I'd go to your old place when you weren't expecting me, and you'd have the TV on with the sound down low in the other room? Not so you could hear the words, but the voices? And when I turned up, you'd switch it off. I know why you did that."

"I didn't think you'd understand," he says, turning to me.

"I understand you."

"I'm too old for this self-pity."

"Well, you're too young for that cardigan. What the fuck is your excuse for that cardigan, L? A cardigan. A brown one."

"It's cold," he smiles.

"Is that supposed to be an excuse?"

"Fine, I'll take it off."

"You better had. So, are you going to feed me or what?"

"Light, do you mind? I've just split up with my boyfriend manfriend partner person. Where's B?"

"I don't know. He lined some M&Ms up in rows on the table and then he disappeared. You tell me if that's normal behaviour for a psychologist."

"He's gone to bed? Shit. I better talk to him."

"Tell him that Daddy and Daddy might not love each other anymore but it's not his fault and it doesn't mean that you love him any less."

"Fuck off, Light, you wanker."

"Have fun," I say as he starts to walk past me, but he stops and more or less falls against me, hooking his arms under mine so his hands use my shoulders as an anchor he can hold himself up on. His head rests next to mine, his hair presses against mine, and this is normally the point where I leave, but I'm not leaving. That makes me happier than I have been for a long time. And to think that I used to leave in the middle of the night just to get away from him. The back of his head fits so perfectly into my hand. Maybe anyone's would, but his feels like it was made for me.

"Thank you. It's almost like the old days," I whisper.

"Apart from your pregnant wife."

"And your mad best friend."

"I can't talk to anyone but you. I can't talk to B."

"Maybe leave it until tomorrow?"

"That's very tempting," he says, leaning even more heavily on me.

"Hey, stop lolling on me, will you?" I ask. He takes a step back and looks like standing up unaided is a very tiring process. I reach into my pocket, put two cigarettes into my mouth and light them so the heady hit is nearly overwhelming for a second. He parts his lips so I can put one of them in his mouth. "Feed me."

"Jesus Christ, you're useless," he laughs. "There are things in the kitchen. Feed yourself."

"But it's cold. I don't know if it's safe to reheat meat."

"You should have asked Stephen before he left," he says bitterly. I can't actually be sorry. He's such a melodramatic whore.

And he's gone for while. The house is silent apart from an owl hooting hysterically outside, furious that nothing's hooting back. I decide to eat the bready part of the cheeseburger and the salad even though I'm worried about bloating. Bread is evil but I'm pretty desperate, and I'm eating it at the kitchen table when I hear running and pounding down the stairs. I struggle to swallow the claggy mess when L appears, breathless in the doorway.

"Light, you have to run. B wants to talk to you. Please go. I'll sacrifice myself for you."

"He's not going to kill you, is he?"

"I don't think so but you never know. Light, I haven't updated my will and I wanted to be cremated, but after how we acted with Jeevas, I'm not so sure anymore -"

He breaks off and turns away from me, horrified by whatever he sees. There's little time for him or me to do anything before he's pulled out of sight by a white hand. I stand up and think that maybe I'm having one of those waking dreams again, but B marches in, shutting and locking the door just as L is about to rush in after him. His eyes are manic. He looks at me coldly for a second and all I can hear is my own blood thundering through my heart in time with L's pounding on the door as B almost runs at me. I'm going to die here. I don't want to die.

"You made him do this you made him kick Stephen out and you are not going to fuck this up don't fuck this up and don't fuck  _him_  up because he's fucked up enough as it is," he hisses at me. I back away until I hit the edge of the sink and can't go any further. He only stops when he's pressing his chest against me and is directly in front of my face so I can't see anything else but his eyes.

"I wasn't going to!" I say, quiet with fear. His face breaks and mutates as he speaks, like every nerve of it is in spasm.

"He likes you. I don't know why. I mean, you're very pretty, but apart from that I don't know why. There must be some reason. But you have to be  _serious_."

"I am."

"How serious?"

"Very."

"How can you be very serious? Your wife has a baby on the way and you're the Prime Minister of Japan and you're having an affair with a male lawyer barrister fuck knows what he does but he's also your Head of PR and he has mental health problems. Doesn't that make being very serious a bit complicated?"

"Ah -"

"I only like one person. One person in the whole world and it's him. So you better be very fucking serious."

"I am," I tell him. God, even if I wasn't, I'd tell him that I was. He calms instantly and takes a well needed step back. I breathe. L's still shouting and it sounds like he's hitting the door with a piano, but I don't think he can help me. I'm trapped in here with this man and I'm going to die.

"You see that pot?" he asks, pointing at a huge pan on the hob. "If you're not serious, I'll put your head in it. It might not even be still attached to your body."

"B!" L screams.

"Don't worry," B assures me. "He has a very weak left shoulder which makes it nearly impossible for him to break down a door."

"Could you let me out, please?"

"No." He reaches into his trouser pocket and it's a knife! It's a knife! No, it's a... black box?! He turns it around in his hand and presses a red button on top. Is that a dictaphone? "Discuss your relationship with Mr Lawliet and speak clearly into the mic," he says, holding the machine in front of my mouth.

"Fuck off!" I shout, pushing his hand away.

"Don't you speak to me like that I like aggression in people it shows that they're alive but there's a level of respect that you should have when speaking to me because I'm a psychologist and a very good one and I'm going analyse you until there's nothing left but quivering bones and tendons do you understand me I don't think you can because in my professional opinion you're as intelligent as a spade and you're a malignant narcissist the cause of which I think stems from early childhood probably potty training combined with genetic neuroticism but why don't you pick on someone else that's what I ask myself so for the good of his health I'll eradicate the problem and that's you so -"

"Woah! Don't try that shit with me."

"Ok," he says slowly, sustaining the word. "If you're not serious and you fuck this up and fuck him up then I'm going to find you, and by the time I've finished with you, you'll be chewing your own cock off. Do you understand what I'm saying, or should I write it down for you?"

"I understand."

"I'm not joking."

"I know."

"You might think that you've got everything all hunky dory but you haven't. What do you think L would say if you beat me up?"

"I'm not going to!"

"You say that but we're in here and he's out there and who's to say that you haven't beaten me up because, you know what I'll do? I'll do this."

He throws himself backwards against the table, knocking over chairs which scrape against slate like fingernails against a blackboard, then he throws himself forwards and I dart out of his way. All I can do is stand there and watch him chuck himself around the room like a pinball, smacking himself repeatedly in the face with whatever comes to hand, which at the moment is a cupboard door. I try to make a break for freedom but he grasps my wrist in an icy grip while he continues to smash his face.

"Stop it!" I shout at him as blood starts to stream from his nose.

"What's going on in there!?" L calls out. By now I thought that he might have realised that he could get a screwdriver and take the doors off their hinges, but he's not brilliant in this kind of situation, obviously.

"He's hitting me, L!" B screams. I feel my face contort with confusion. If this is a dream, it's the weirdest one I've ever had, and that's saying something.

"What?!"

"The Prime Minister of Japan is beating me up!"

"Light?!"

"I'm not, L! He's hitting himself in the face with a cupboard door!"

"Christ, will someone just let me in, please?" he begs. I try to move but B suddenly stops beating himself up and forces me back against the wall. There's sticky blood coating his teeth, darkening in the gaps.

"Oh, no, no, no, don't you dare.".

"B, if you hurt him, I'll kill you, I swear!" L shouts.

"But he's hurting me! What about me!?" B asks, turning his face towards the door as if L's in the room with us. Then he turns back to me. "YOU!"

"Get off me you fucking lunatic!" I say, pushing his bent and twisted claw-like hands away from my neck. Again, perhaps even more frightening than anything else he's done so far, he calms abruptly, his face becoming emotionless instead of the boiling cauldron of hatred and mania which looks so natural on him.

"Stephen's a very nice man. He's the sort of man you'd take home to your mother and she'd wish he was her son instead. He fires a gun like Johnny Utah in  _Point Break_. I had to wank for ten minutes after he showed me his aim. You'd take him anywhere, really, just to show off. You're the sort of man you'd fuck behind a beer stall at a festival and pretend that you didn't."

"No I'm not. No one's ever done anything to me behind a beer stall."

"But they have fucked you and pretended that they didn't."

"No."

"I find that hard to believe. L's nearly forty, I know, I have no idea what to get him for his birthday, but he's fucked up and has the emotional state of a child who's been locked in a sewer for six years in Pakistan."

"I know he's fucked up," I whisper.

"Why?"

"Uh -"

"How do you know?" he asks. One of his eyes looks considerably larger than the other. One pupil is dilated and the other is normal, like one side of his face is high. "Why would he talk to you about how fucked up he is and not talk to me? Does he talk to you during sex?"

"What?"

"Does he talk to you during sex?"

"You don't expect me to answer that."

"I do or I wouldn't have asked. He wouldn't admit that he's fucked up to anyone unless his mind wasn't completely there, so either he's got some serious cognitive disease or it comes out during sex because everything comes out during sex, literally. So? Does he?"

"No."

"Liar. He never shuts up, of course he talks during sex. I know he does, I heard him once when we were twenty. We shared a flat. It was very small and the walls were thin. I'll tell you about it sometime because I'd like to get it off my chest. What does he say?"

"Nothing."

"It's very important that you tell me."

"It's none of your -"

"I don't think I made myself clear. Do you see that pot?" he says, pointing towards the now terrifying pot on the cooker.

"Alright! He says... just... shit."

"He says 'shit'? That could point to an underdeveloped ego problem. He's backward emotionally. He's obsessed with shit."

"No, he doesn't say shit, he talks shit."

"Your grasp of English is still very poor. Keep working on it, chicken. So he talks shit. What shit?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Stephen wouldn't tell me either, it's very annoying. Do you say anything?"

"What?"

"During sex?"

"No!"

"Lie. Oh my God, you're so easy it's boring. I know that he talks the question is do you talk too I think that you do I think you talk about how you're God because you're possibly the most neurotic person I've ever met it'd be a pleasure if you weren't such a fucking twat who's fucking up L's life and he supports that because he gets off on the idea of fucking God, who wouldn't? And you get off on being told that you're God I'm sure it's very nice for you both is that the only reason that you like each other because I'm sure I don't need to tell you that it's pretty messed up but then you're very messed up and you're not helping him at all he's getting worse by the day but I suppose that's what fucking God does to someone I wouldn't know because I always thought that God was supposed to be some old man in the sky that's what Michelangelo taught me and I never thought of fucking him even if that was physically possible and there was a chartered flight up there I didn't know that God actually lives in Japan and wears a suit. What is that, Dolce and Gabbana? Are you striking up links with Italy or is it a gift from your friends at the Vatican? Has anyone ever told you that you look like a hustler because you do you know a regular midnight cowboy without a stetson some pretty queen who's in an amateur dramatic production of  _Bugsy Malone_  -"

"OK! I... I answer him."

"He asks questions?"

"Sometimes."

"It's a lawyer thing. I want you to buy a dictaphone and record your sexual encounters, convert them to MP3 and email them to me as and when."

"What? No!" I say, shaking my head at this insanity.

"It's very important. Or your head will be in that pot."

"I'm not recording anything."

"I'd accept a film if you'd rather do that. Some clients prefer that because I can analyse body language as well. I saved a man's life that way. His wife despised him and was going to kill him and I could tell from how she climaxed. AVI files are fine."

"No!"

"You're very obstinate. I'm not sure if I like you. Keep a journal then."

"No. Listen, it really isn't any of your fucking business."

"Would you say that your relationship is purely sexual because you like sleeping with men and he's very discreet?"

"No!"

"That's very emphatic. Do you feel some deep emotional connection?"

"Let me out."

"Light, are you still alive?!" L shouts, making me look at the door, but B grabs my face and points it back towards him.

"Don't answer him. Answer me," he says.

"I suppose so."

"A deep emotional connection?"

"Yeah?"

"Elaborate."

"I can't!"

"Your emotional intelligence is very low. Your intelligence is generally very low but your emotional intelligence barely registers, it's just a flat line. This is a problem. I'm learning very little from you."

"Let me out then."

"I'm going to have to. I estimate that he's going to go outside and break the window in less than thirty seconds. Remember that pot, Light Yagami."

He leaves as quickly as he came in, opening the doors and swinging them out wide before he glides out. L stands back to let him past and looks stunned by the state of B's face. Then he remembers that I'm here and runs over to me, looking me over for damage like I'm a vase in an antique shop.

"Oh my God, what did he do to you?"

"I'm ok," I say, completely dazed by the experience. I need to sit down. I need to lie down.

"I'm going to bed. Night!" B howls from wherever he is. The sound of his voice makes me flinch.

"Do you need to be sick?" L asks me, rubbing my arms. I realise that I feel as cold as a block of ice. "Go ahead, I have a mop."

"I don't need to be sick."

"It might be a delayed reaction, like one of those spiders that bite you but you're not ill until a few hours afterwards. We need an anti-venom. B!"

"It's fine, L. Honestly."

"What did he say to you?"

"Nothing important. He babbled."

"I'm so sorry," he says, and kisses me quickly three times. He must be relieved that I'm not dead and he's not the only one. "You've done a lot of bad things to me but you've never let your best friend lock me in a room with him, not that you have a best friend. I thought you were dead. Really. I thought he was going to kill you."

"No."

"Do you need to lie down?"

"I'll be alright."

"Cup of tea?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Maybe you should eat some couscous."

"I don't want any couscous."

"It's like a low-level cold at first. You need to take in enough calories and vitamins to fight the infection. Have some orange juice."

"I'm ok, really."

"I don't want you to die, Light," he tells me, struggling to regulate his breathing. I think he needs to breathe deeply into a paper bag a few times. I massage his shoulder to reassure him that, by some miracle, I'm not dead.

"I know."

"No, this is an unusual concept for me," he says, looking pale with shock. "I love you."

"I know."

"No, you don't understand. I mean it. I really do."

"I know," I say, and he falls on one of the few chairs which is still upright. He stares at the floor and tries to comprehend this emotional bombshell.

"Jesus," he breathes out.

"Do you need a cup of tea?" I ask.

"Would you mind?"

"No."

He stays where he is and I turn around to pour some water in the kettle. My hands are shaking so much that I have to steady one hand by holding onto my wrist. I'm not sure at what point this became L's traumatic experience and not mine.

"You are staying, aren't you? You're not going to run away because of my best friend."

"I'm not running away," I tell him.

"Can I have five sugars, please?"

"That's too much sugar."

"I need it. Light, I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it. He's just trying to look after you in a really weird, over the top way."

"I know he is. God, I wish he'd get a fucking boyfriend manfriend partner person."

"I think he'd like you to be his boyfriend manfriend partner person," I mumble as I pour some water into a cup which isn't boiling so much as being cold from the tap and I don't know where the teabags are. I need to sit down. L doesn't have a comment on my conclusion, he only makes a noise through his teeth which sounds like a slow fart. Either he's blanking out the obvious or he's blind as a bat. "How can you not see that?" I ask him. "He's completely obsessed with you."

"Nooooo, that's just B. When he likes something, he gets like that. You should have seen him with his tamogotchi. He was constantly checking on it, waiting for it to die."

"He loves you."

"I know  _that_."

"No, he does actually love you."

"What do you mean?"

"L."

"That's ridiculous," he laughs. "I've known him since we were kids. He's practically my brother, only I like him. And he's my best friend, so all that fuckery's illegal. Ok, I know it's not illegal but it should be illegal. Don't be stupid, Light."

"I can't believe that you haven't noticed."

"I can't believe that you think that just because you're in love me, everyone is. But I am wonderful, I suppose. It's an easy assumption to make and probably true most of the time. God knows I've had enough offers. No, I'm not going to say anything bad about B because I love him to death and I'm quite scared of him, but his... he doesn't have many people. He's been like this before, although not quite like this. His self-confidence is underground somewhere."

"He's scared of losing you," I say. I'm on autopilot and feel like I'm coming round from some pretty invasive surgery. I can't find tea but I found orange juice, so I pour it in the water and hand it to L.

"When did you become so perceptive?" he asks.

"It's kind of obvious. It's as obvious as the fact that he's in love with you, which is great news. We get rid of one and now there's another idiot. How long have you known each other?"

"Twenty-seven years."

"Fuck," I sigh and rest my face against the table. So in all likelihood B's been obsessed with L for most of their lives. This obsession is nearly as old as I am.

"I'll speak to him tomorrow. I'll speak to Stephen tomorrow. I'll speak to everyone tomorrow. Are you going to stay here the whole weekend?"

"I thought that... Well, Kiyomi wants to change hospitals and I was thinking of finding a private clinic near here."

"Good thinking. Is this warm orange juice?"

"But I still have to go to the hospital tomorrow morning before Questions."

"I forgot about Kiyomi, but she is easy to forget about. I'll drop you off on the way to work. Ooooh, look at us, we're all husbandly. God, kill me. It's time."

"I hate being a husband."

"Yes, it must be shit. You look so tired," he tells me. Whatever gave him that idea?

"I am tired."

"I didn't think it'd be like this. When I woke up this morning, I didn't think it'd be like this."

"Have you changed the sheets on your bed?" I ask.

"What?"

"Change the sheets."

"There's nothing wrong with -"

"Change the sheets."

"But -"

"I'm not sleeping in that bed unless you change the sheets. Change the sheets and we'll lock the door and hopefully we'll still be alive in the morning."

"Ok," he agrees. I hear his chair move against the floor as he stands and walks behind me. I don't feel like I can stand right now, myself. I feel him kiss my head. "You're so sensitive these days."

"You said that when we first met."

"Did I?"

"In the inquiry."

"Oh."

"Tell me about when we met."

"But you know. You were there. I lawed you to death," he says. I smile and feel it stretch uncomfortably across my face. It makes me close my eyes.

"Tell me about it. What you thought."

"What I thought was very clear. I made it very clear, didn't I?"

"I just want to know."

"I thought that you were a liar and a cocky bastard and I wanted to sleep with you. Speaking of, you need to go to sleep, which is a terrible waste, if you ask me. I'll change the sheets."

"Was your coat Burberry?" I ask.

"What are you talking about?"

"I thought it was Burberry Prorsum but I forgot to make sure."

"B!" he shouts, making me sit up quickly. "B, what have you done to his brain?!"

"Be quiet! He didn't do anything. I was just thinking about your coat."

"I really don't know about the coat. It was a coat."

"Do you still have it?"

"I don't know that either. Look through my coats tomorrow if it's so important."

"It was a winter coat though."

"Light, I'm really pleased that my five-year-old coat passed your style test, but you need to go to sleep. You know what B's known as in the trade? The ventilator. Because he makes people need one."

"Mmmm... I guess," I murmur, my eyes closing again. Maybe we should just sleep here. Lock ourselves in and sleep here where there are knives and blunt objects.

"Fucking bastard, I'll kill him tomorrow. As if you weren't mad enough."

"I'm not mad."

"Yeah, yeah, like you're the best judge of that."


	11. After Me, The Flood

**Chapter Twenty**

**After Me, The Flood**

_My hate is general, I detest all men;_  
_Some because they are wicked and do evil,_  
_Others because they tolerate the wicked,_  
_Refusing them the active vigorous scorn_  
_Which vice should stimulate in virtuous minds_

* * *

A fact of life and one which most people would agree on is that the world is going down the toilet, but it's also an accepted fact of life that no one can do much about it, so they talk about what they're going to have for dinner instead. Sometimes they moan about politicians in a generalised, big hand movement way and expect us to fix it, but I don't associate with anyone who isn't in some way involved with politics and/or is a politician, so I don't hear much of that. And I get good press even if no one else does.

The way I see it, the world has been slowly collapsing since the moment man put two feet on the ground, and politics was created to try and stop it spiralling out of control and give us, as a civilisation, some consolation that at least we're trying. It's just another lie and the world is full of them. Truth becomes myth and lies become truth, or maybe truth is submerged by the weight of the lies. I think of years ago when I stood in a tiny room and asked someone to make me believe everything he told me. I was asking him to blind me to the world, because part of me wants to be happy in my ignorance too, just like everyone else. But I can't forget what's there and what's been. When I asked him to do that, it was like asking him to make me a virgin again. That's how ridiculous a request it was. So it's unsurprising then that he didn't make me believe him - he didn't even try - and I'm still in that House thinking that the world is corrupt and that politics is the centre of it, and sometimes I can't pull myself out of bed. I latch onto my routine and tranquil pessimism to see myself through this long ordeal. I slap myself into the centre of the cause, because if something's ruining your life then you might as well be close by it and see how it's progressing. It's a rotten foundation which is rotting the floorboards, and at some point someone will either have to fix it or tear the whole place down. The House saw me as a danger but didn't know it. I have to remake everything it stood for in my image. An evil thing really  _can_  tread on hallowed ground, and a good thing can dress himself as a wolf and walk unseen through corridors and wood-clad walls, heavy with ancient veneration.

Anyway, the cause of the current state of the world, swirling around U-bend as it is, is a maelstrom of long ignored problems which only need a firm hand and a true heart to rectify it. Justice fails because justice is not justice. Our morals are immoral because we are gluttons to our vices. This can all be reversed, or we can at least rip it out and start on a new page, and under the same principle of imitation, regenerate the this and more bangs at my head like L's father's old gavel hammer which L now uses to tenderise steaks sometimes. I have to listen to all kinds of shit from people I hate, and I have to nod and act like I'm sympathetic, but they're completely wrong.

I sit at a table, surrounded by my idiots. Watari sits on my left and mews lamentations about crime and hate and, in particular, this 'new vogue for bad manners' which is a grave concern for him. But he thinks it's hopeless and he has no answers. No calls for harsh measures or a close inspection of all our establishments and institutions to see where things are going wrong. He hasn't got the mind or the time to invest in more than surface thinking, and he dislikes the idea of having an unpopular or even slightly controversial opinion. He's all for status quo. On my right is a man who's not in the cabinet anymore. I had him sacked long ago and I think he's probably dead now. When I was Penber's aide and quite naive and hateful still, men like him saw the shell of me walk around. He was in his fifties and a thespian who was always quoting scenes from Chinese operas at me and occasionally singing when I walked past. He was an exquisite portrayal of sentimental culture best forgotten, eccentricity, orchid-keeping and attempted buggery. Whether he is actually back in office or not, he's fairly representative of my Cabinet and I despise them all. The well has been poisoned.

Each one of them have many individual and unique character flaws, but aside from their bond of ugliness and incompetence, two flaws are universal: stupidity and aimless ambition. The king of them all is L, and he's worse because he's only after pride and success in the form of hard-won, high risk cases and money and because he, unlike them, has the good sense to recognise the faults in his character, but he genuinely sees no need to change now. Well, perhaps he did once, not that I believe him. He associates me with corruption, perversion and immorality (although I don't know why), and he's thrown himself back into it after a short intermittence during which I think he only distanced himself from life in general and became like my Cabinet of idiots. He didn't exactly become a humanitarian through the influence of Stephen. No. L, who I love more than my own heart and for a reason I don't quite understand, contains that same aggression of self of the hopelessly defective. The selfishness which radiates from him and from everything he does is like being rocketed into the centre of a solar flare, and it's that intensity which sets him apart. His acknowledgement of evil - which he is more than capable of making some impact on - is accepted and relished for what it is. For him, it's proof of our own inevitable self destruction. In another life, maybe, he could have done something about it, but he chooses not to. He's captivating in his shameless glory and sheer force, and I admit that I have been distracted by it and by how similar and yet how different we are. The difference is that my aim is clear and precise and good, while his is almost completely without meaning. His contented sadness envelopes you in the bittersweet resignation that we are doomed, all of us. Our marrow is clogged with evil. He opposes whichever side that offers more of a challenge. There is morality in him, but it's something shameful which he'd only admit in the lightest of whispers or private jokes with me. He does laugh at it. 'Why, Light? Why are you so in love with fables? Only stupid people live by archaic notions of right and wrong. Why are you fighting for something that doesn't exist and never has? You know you'll never do anything good because there's no such thing. You can only please yourself. We live, we fuck, we die, as Julius Caesar said.'

Julius Caesar never said that, of course. I'm not stupid. L even lies about quotations.

But I wonder why he's not in the room with me when his is the one face I want to see. He keeps me solid in my convictions through his amused, detached interest. His way is right, he thinks, and he could convince everyone in the world that it's a fact, but there is no conviction behind it other than he knows he is right. Ask him for a reason and he will latch onto lazy metaphors to explain that law and justice have been established across the millennia and are therefore perfect and absolute, even when they're not. Even when they fail. Even when he's the cause of them failing. He could easily stun you into agreeing with him. I've seen it happen on the weaker willed who open their wide, fat, bright beaks to swallow his wordy, vague shit. But I see things in the plainest terms. The world is rotten. I must nurture a new, fresh sapling of the utmost purity, and from that a new world will grow.

And with you I have found something. You wanted me to win so I could lose. I hate you so much that it makes me sick. I love you so much that it makes me want to believe you. Both of us were happy to wander alone with nothing but our thoughts, but two people together are always going somewhere, aren't they. Just like in that fucking film of yours. And you exploit my vices, but my soul is virgin.

I should just tell them. No one's listening but I tell them that I'm really sorry that I'm not sorry at all, but I'm leaving my wife for a lawyer. The baby will be fine because I have enough money to feed it. There's nothing more irresponsible than having children when you can't afford them. I know. It's a shock, isn't it? It is to me too. Anyway, the press aren't going to like it much, but if you stick by me then I'll make it worth your while. I'll kill you all in your sleep.

The table catches fire in front of me, spreading along the length of the oil soaked, over-polished wood while I sit cross-legged behind it. The flames light up my face and the faces of those around me. Somehow, this doesn't worry me or anyone else. It feels right. It's inevitable that it would end this way now that we're all going to burn to death. L said that I'd take everything with me when I burn up. I must find him. He should be here.

I open the door and it's smoky outside even though the fire's inside the room. I know this is a dream, I knew the moment I found myself in that room with the table on fire and I couldn't remember how I got there. I can't see an inch in front of myself and yet I keep walking with nothing to stop me, nothing to trip me up yet. I think that maybe I'm searching for something to trip me up, something to fight against. But suddenly I'm lost and I couldn't find my way back if I tried, so all I can do is stand in one spot and panic silently until perhaps I'll accept it. It makes me think of when I walked a street in a school uniform and felt completely alone and set apart. It never bothered me before.

I call for L. I call for anyone in the thick grey soup around me. I call out and my voice shows the panic I wouldn't allow to be heard, not ever. Then I see someone, a darkening in the mist getting closer. Tall, like him. The mist clears around him and he smiles at how my fingers clutch at him as he places his hands on my shoulder blades.

"It's alright. I'm here now," he says to me. I don't know why he's not worried like I am. Why he thinks this is all ok when we can't possibly find a way out of this, but his mouth fits perfectly over mine and all the words trapped inside me. I close my eyes to the fog and uncertainty to fall completely into kissing him. His hands run; tracing the back of my head, gripping my hair. He says to me, but voiceless, he says to me that it's ok. I'll be ok, I'll find my way out of here. I want to ask him how he found me again, that I  _was_  alright before him when I was cold with a burning heat inside.

He says, "How I envy you."

"But you have a life," I tell him. He has me. We might be going to die in some smoke-filled room soon, but he has me for the life we've got left. I really couldn't think of a better way to clear my Cabinet and start again than for then all to die in a fire I started, but I don't want to die. I really don't want to die.

"I think I had the chance of one once," he says. Strange how well he blends in with this greyness, this blankness. The hollows under his eyes look dark and sick and tired. "No, what I have is law and justice, or whatever I make of it. That's all that's truly mine."

"It will happen, L. I'll make it happen." Yes, we'll be perfect with no more lies and no more death. I'm relying on a liar to tell me the truth about one thing: that it's forever or until I get bored of him. I won't let him make a fool out of me. I think one day that I'll have done all he asked of me. That I will have terminated my course because I was distracted by a man at the side of the road, and after all the world's sacrifice he'll laugh at me with his ugly doppelganger and walk away. Someone who can't really love him, because he wants to be him. He tries to make himself look just like him, only so twisted that it's comedic. Like a song played on an out of tune piano and in the wrong key anyway. He tries to copy how he moves and talks, but it's ridiculous, like a bad impressionist.

"I want to believe you," he whispers to me. "But I know what you are. Both of us are half a person, half a life."

"Two halves make a whole," I say. So idiotic, it's like something Naomi would say. But I didn't say it because he's still kissing me and he can't speak and neither can I. He's ruined me, I think. He made me this way. He made me mad. I'm very annoyed about it, to be honest.

When he pulls away from me and I open my eyes lazily, dizzy with fucked equilibrium, he's not there. It's not him. The same gilded inky black hair in this dim light, the same passive expression, but it's Kiyomi. I push her away to arm's length so the mist twirls around her as she moves backwards. I don't know why I'm reacting this way. I should be used to all this by now. It's the same old shit and it never makes any sense. Sayu's going to turn up playing a guitar in a minute. My parents are going to call me and say that they murdered some holy man in Goa and they're on the run. It's one of those dreams where you wake up feeling more tired than before you went to sleep.

"Where's L?"

"Nowhere," she says with a voice which sound layered, like she's been double tracked. I rub my head, crushing it with both hands. What the fuck is this?

"But he was just here."

"Don't be silly, darling," she smiles at me, morphing into something else before my eyes. Morphing into Naomi. She comes closer so I feel her pressing against me as she reaches up to kiss me again.

"No. Where is he?"

"He's dead, Light. You killed him. It's ok though, he wanted you to."

Then there's darkness. Darkness and a far away sort of pinching around my wrist first, like a tight bracelet. Then my hand being lifted and dropped unceremoniously on my own face. I open my eyes and in my shaking and blurred vision, see only a white grinning moon of a face with black hair. I think that it's the demon again, that's my first thought. Nothing reasonable, no, my first thought that it's a demon I imagined. L became Kiyomi, Kiyomi became Naomi and now Naomi has become a demon and it's just a dream, it's not real. My vision stops shaking and clears within a second of me sitting up, and the truth is worse than a demon.

My immediate reaction is to shout out a "fuck" and try to get as far away from him as possible, so my legs scurry stupidly under the sheets. My heels slide as I try to push myself back and in the end I get nowhere. B sits as still as a gravestone on the bed next to me where L should be, smiling at me in such a frighteningly sterile way, like Naomi and Kiyomi and L, and it almost hypnotises me into being as still as he is. All I've managed is to push myself back against the pillows, and I find myself staying in that half recumbent position like an animal that's accepted that it's not going to be able to escape from the fucking big panther that wants to eat it. Once he's content that I'm calm enough for him to speak and be heard, he clasps his hands together on his lap and leans towards me. B's poisoning my mind just by being in this house, because I don't have dreams like the one I've just had. If I ever dream about L these days, he's either sucking my cock or he just watches me, he never speaks. B would love to hear about my dreams, I bet, since he's responsible for fucking them up, and now I have the strangest feeling that my session has started.

"You're very pretty when you're asleep," he says. "It's a shame that you have to wake up, but one day you won't."

"What do you want?" I ask.

"You know how puppies are really cute when they're asleep but when they're awake they're like little evil goblins eating your shoes and you wish that they were asleep and cute all the time instead?" His voice is revving like an engine now. I push the hair from my face and look around me. I'm in L's room, yes. I'm in his bed.

"B, what do you want?"

"To look at the pretty," he says slowly. His smile is gone. His face is now honest in showing me his hatred.

"L!" I call out.

"He can't hear you. He's gone."

"No, he's not gone."

"He is. We've run out of coffee. It's a tragedy. I accidentally knocked the whole jar on the floor and he stomped his feet and went off to buy some more. Aren't I clumsy?"

"Stop."

"What's the matter, Prime Minister, you look pale. Have I woken you up too quickly? Oh dear, I am sorry. That kind of thing can ruin a person's day and sometimes things happen, like you could have thrashed out at me in your psychosis and I would have had to kill you in order to defend myself, because there's no reasoning with psychotics having an episode. Were you dreaming? Would you like to talk about it? I know that face. That's the face of someone who doesn't know if the dream has ended. I saw your eyes a minute ago flickering this way and that way under your eyelids and I wondered what you were seeing in there. In your head. But I'll tell you a secret: the dream never really stops. And now I do feel guilty, because he told me not to bother you. Not to come in here and talk to you. You don't sleep, like he doesn't sleep, but you make yourself that way, not like him, he can't, you can, you just won't let yourself. But it's obviously not good for you to sleep because look at you, you're such a mess. Nice chest, by the way. I must congratulate you on your sternum. Mine's not so great now, completely ruined for me, because nearly ten years ago I had an accident - I told you that I was clumsy - and for some reason the doctors wanted to save my life and do you know what they did? They put this HUGE needle into my sternum to inject all sorts of nice things into my bone marrow. It hurt a bit. They wouldn't let L hold my hand so he held my ankle instead. It's a beautiful bone, the sternum, not the ankle, but not as beautiful as the pelvis. The pelvis is the cradle of life. Did you know that the evolution of primates can be seen in the pelvis? Can I see your pelvis?" he says, in his grating voice, and pulls at the sheet over my lap.

"No!" I shout, pulling it out of his hands.

"Oh, such a prude," he mumbles, settling back again. "If I looked like you, I'd walk around naked all the time until I was arrested. I'd show everyone my pelvis, because I'm guessing that yours is -"

"Shut up," I whisper, shaking my head to try and clear it. "Where's L?"

"I told you, he's gone out. He wants you to sleep for a long, long time and have what he can't have so you won't be tired anymore, but he's an idiot because that's actually harmful. It's nearly six o'clock and you've been asleep for hours and hours and hours and hours and hours. Hypersomnia is linked with headaches, diabetes, heart disease and, basically, you die before you should. I'm doing you a favour by waking you up. You're not going to tell him I came in here, are you? Since I saved your life."

"No," I say, because that's what he wants me to say.

"Do you want something? I have some uppers. I have a lot of things, actually. I'm a qualified psychiatrist but you lose a lot of communication with fucked up people nowadays in that field. There's shitloads of mathematics involved in clinical psychiatry and I think that masking diseases of the mind with drugs is sad. It's like putting paintings under a blanket, don't you think? Who are we to say what's madness and what's sanity? Madness is beautiful. Diseases of the mind are beautiful things and they should be allowed to flourish and see out their course. That's what I think. And there's not as much listening involved in psychiatry. Most people I saw were referred to me and I saw them for ten minutes, read their case notes, saw scans and gave them drugs, and you can't get a good opinion of just how fucked up someone is unless you speak to them properly. So, I'm an unusual case. A psychiatrist who chooses to be a psychologist is quite mad because with my medical training I could be in a laboratory far away from all these bastards. Do you know what it means? Psychiatry? To heal the soul. I'm a soul healer, if I want to be. Psychology means the study of the soul and I prefer that. I watch and learn, I have no intention to heal. So yes, I have some uppers and you're welcome to have one or the whole bottle. I'd really like to see what effect they have on someone with your condition."

"I don't want anything. But I think you should -"

"So you won't tell him then? About our little chat?"

"No," I say. He remains motionless but his forehead knots at my answer and I worry that I've said the wrong thing. Why would L leave me with him like this?

"You're obedient," he tells me. "Maybe that's why he likes you. I mean, you come over all feisty but you're quite sensible in strange ways. I'd love to see the fireworks in your head.  _You're_  unusual, you know. I'm sure that you know, you're proud of it. Real stunners like you don't often have interesting brains as well, because you don't need them. Yours is interesting, but ugly. Maybe you're pretty on the outside to disguise it, just like drugs masking diseases. The disease is still there underneath. Do you think that's what it is? You're genetically self-medicated to mask your disease from everyone, like a new stealthy evolution, and one day you'll kill us all. Your dad's a bit of a rugged sort, isn't he? I saw him at the Christmas party. And your mother is a kind of mouse, if you don't mind me saying so -"

"I do fucking mind."

"Oh. She's a very sweet little mouse though, I'm sure. Do you think you'll go that way? Half and half. A rugged mouse? I don't think it's fair for people to have interesting brains  _and_  that chest you have there. Someone should fuck up one or the other to even up the score a bit, don't you think? Because you've got a really unfair advantage, you know. People like you are death camps. So, how do you feel? Making him choose between a nice man and you. He chose you by the looks of it. A completely hopeless case. I expected more from him because we used to laugh at people like you. You... pretty people. The conventionally, universally attractive. He hates people like you. He'll sleep with them, yeah, but wouldn't we all? We used to have bets on whether he could get them or not. I don't think he was interested most of the time but he likes a challenge. You people don't hold someone's attention for long though. You must be  _really_  good in the sack, that's all I can say. Personally, I would have chosen Stephen. I would have taped over his mouth most of the time, but I would have chosen Stephen."

He's fucking insane. My throat closes and I have to cough to open it again so I can speak. "It's not your decision to make though it's -"

"What's it like sleeping in his bed?" he asks me eagerly. Oh, no.

"Erm…"

"Because I think it must be nice. L looks very nice in bed. Not pretty, because who wants pretty? Il est trop beau. The kind you only appreciate over time, when you put the time in. And I've put in a lot of time. Gamine is the word, only he's not a girl. Gamin. Don't you think?"

"Isn't that... pork?"

"No, not gammon. Gamin."

"I don't know that word."

"Sorry, that is a toughy. I'm so thoughtless sometimes. He's pale and interesting and kind of dead-looking with this..." He pauses and rotates his hand in the air in a very French way as he searches for some words, finally finding something incomprehensible to me. "Je ne sais quoi."

"What?"

"He's pulchritudinous."

"Is that a disease?"

"No. He's got this too-old-now-Dior-model thing about him. I'm thinking of when Galliano was around, you know? What do you think?" he asks, biting down hard on his thumb as he awaits my answer. I don't like where this is going. I don't like this whole situation, but this conversation, if you could call it that, is definitely not leading to a good place. He asks me for my opinion constantly and I think he wants me to agree with whatever he says.

"I don't know," I say. "He just looks like L."

"Don't tell me that you don't know, you know. I know he looks like L but I'm trying to find comparisons. Do you know what it's been like for me? I only talk to L. Just L and my therapist, and I wouldn't choose to speak to my therapist if I could avoid it, but I have to. They're the only people I speak to, apart from when I'm buying something or I'm in the bank, and that doesn't count, does it? I couldn't speak to my therapist about which model L looks like, and L knows fuck all about male models apart from 'fuck' and 'not fuck.' That's all they are to him, he doesn't see the artistry, the contrived genetics and the hard work that goes into looking how they do and posing and walking. It's like breeding a prize winning dog, really. It's a celebration of good looks, it's aspirational, they represent brands, but he thinks they're brainless, they're just sex dolls for him that he can wank over on a long flight, he doesn't know their names and he wouldn't be able to compare himself to anyone, he'd find that offensive and boring and pointless and stupid and his perception of self is shit, but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe if I looked like you? You know what I'm talking about. Find a comparison."

The anger in him boils steadily as he talks and suddenly the loudness of his voice dips into a soft whisper sometimes only to rise up again. I realise that he doesn't just love L, he really  _is_  obsessed with him in a serial killer kind of way, not in a concerned friend way. It must have gone past that years ago. I move my leg closer to the edge of the bed but he notices the slow movement under the sheets and eyes me, daring me to try to run. I decide against it and think that if I play along and keep him talking for long enough, L will come back and then it'll be alright.

"Maybe... Jakob Hybholt?" I suggest, and his brow becomes suspicious again.

"How did you know that L has Danish ancestry?"

"I didn't. Does he?"

"Did he tell you his name and you guessed?"

"No."

"Oh. I see what you mean, but no. Bastiaan Van Gaalen, possibly."

I can't help but give out a short laugh at that comparison, even though it's not the wisest move. I try to cover it up by pretending to splutter against my fist, which does seem to break the tension somehow, though he's not pleased with me.

"I said, possibly. No need to be so aggressive," he says. "It's rude."

"Adrien Sahores?"

"Hahahahahahaaaaa!"

"Gordon Bothe?"

"No, no, wrong, wrong, it's the jawline. It's the whole thing. Danish, English, Japanese, it's a weird mix but it works out quite well, doesn't it?"

And it's at this point that I notice a flash of a carving knife flicking next to his thigh. It's been hidden from me until now and I don't know whether he intended for me to see it, but now that I have, I keep thinking of that pot in the kitchen. All I want is to keep him talking and stop him from cutting my head off and putting it in a pot for L to find, like that rabbit in  _Fatal Attraction_.

"Yes," I answer quickly.

"Yes," he agrees. "He just looks very good all round really, doesn't he? Tu parles français?"

"What?"

"That might answer my question. Do you speak French?"

"No. Why?"

"Bon," he says relaxing back into a slouch. He looks down at the bed now, not at me, but I can't take my eyes off the tip of the blade catching the light in his hand in jerky little movements. "Je veux te parler. Je ne suis pas sûr de ce qui le rend si charmant. C'est un bel homme, et il était un magnifique garçon, mais cela ne sert à rien sans personalité. C'est rien qu'un masque, tu le sais, n'est-ce-pas? Au dessous, il n'est juste qu'un oiseau blessé. Tout comme ce merle que j'ai trouvé quand je l'ai rencontré pour la première fois. Il était tout ce que je voulais être. Tout ce que je voulais. Tu n'as jamais connu ce que c'est d'aimer quelqu'un tout en étant ignoré, pas vraiment. Il a menti. L'amour n'a pas de valeur intrinsèque. Ce n'est que de l'oxytocine, de la phényléthylamine et de la dopamine. Quand j'ai réalisé ça, j'ai su que je devais devenir un cadavre. Je ne peux pas répondre. Je suis mort."

Ok. I have don't really have any idea what he just said, but his unreadable expression as he looks at L's pillow next to me doesn't make me think that it could have been good.

"How long did L say he'd be?" I ask nervously.

"I estimate that he'll be back in about eighteen and a half minutes, depending on whether he goes to some service station or the coffee place in town. He could be as little as sixteen minutes, give or take. But it also depends on his state of mind, mood, tiredness, the pressure of his foot on the pedal, propulsion, traffic, weather -"

"Yes, alright."

He looks at me, startled, like he's been woken from a dream as well. Nearly twenty minutes in a room with B and a knife? No. I start to wrap the sheet around my waist and try not to make a big deal about my intention to escape. In my head, every horror film I've seen runs on a loop. I see myself running through this house, locking myself in rooms, knives chipping and slashing and finally breaking through the door and myself being carved up in various ways, all because L finds coffee so integral to his fucking day.

"I'll make some tea," I say. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about. As I swing my legs over to the edge of the bed, clasping the sheet behind me, B lifts up a corner of it and peers underneath.

"Ooooh, like that?" he squeals, bouncing up and down on the bed. "How brazen! Are we in a nudist camp? Do you want to show off your pelvis after all? What a whorish tease, you are."

"Hey!" I shout at him, pulling the sheet out of his hand. "I have clothes! Do you mind… going away?"

"But we're all boys together. You haven't got anything I haven't seen before. I've got those things myself and I've seen them. I see them all the time, can't get away from them. Sit back as you were. Legs on the bed," he says, patting the mattress. I do what he says because I don't really have a choice. Maybe I should resign to my fate, which is to be smeared all over this bed by some maniac with a knife. The thought makes me so angry that I think about just grappling him to the ground and killing him instead. He wouldn't expect it, he thinks that I'm terrified of him. I really hope that this coffee L buys is worth it.

"Shall I tell you a story?" B continues once I'm back into position. "How's your English holding up?"

"Ok."

"Because I can dumb this down and speak very slowly and loudly if you'd like me to."

"No, it's -"

"Well, if you're confused at any point, please stop me. I'd hate for you to miss my story. Once upon a time, there were two little boys who went to university. We got a flat together, L and me. I had to get into the same university, I had to and I did. It was all very nice for a while. Did he tell you about Astbury?"

"Yes."

"Did he tell you what we did to Astbury?"

"Yes."

"Did he tell you what  _I_  did to Astbury?"

"You mean breaking his windows?"

"He didn't tell you," he smiles. "It's ok. So, as I said, it was all very nice. It was a bit like being in a celibate marriage to someone who fucks around every now and again, but it was very nice. He didn't bring it home, but I knew; I could smell it and the oxytocin always went to his head. You think that it's you, don't you? But it's not. It's just a chemical reaction. He went through different phases. Professors were a favourite for a time, so he went through different professors, always looking for Daddy. I like that complex. I think it's true for everyone. Daddy or Mummy. He went through one of my professors, which was strange and it was my fault because I introduced them, but I got a good mark that term, so I should thank L for that. No one his own age was ever good enough for him. Then he met David when he did work experience at the firm, but you couldn't help but like David. You'd like to hate him, but you couldn't. L spent most weekends in London then, because David had the most beeeeeyooooootiful apartment, you should have seen it. But then L went stupid about David and David went stupid about L. The Judge sacked David. Caught them doing something or other next to a photocopier, so L liked David even more then because he'd upset Daddy. It's attention-seeking, it's showing off, it's 'Look at me!' it's what he does. Daddy said that L would ruin David's career, and he kind of did. If you get fired from Lawliet & Company you're not going to get a position in another good firm. Not a really good firm. But David didn't care, I don't think. He said that he didn't. He was going to be a humanist and care for human rights, because law isn't  _really_  concerned about human rights. There was a lot of oxytocin flying around and they'd say all these nice words, like I'm sure you two say all these nice words and it fucking annoys me, let me tell you. It's oxytocin, isn't it? What is it?"

"Oxytocin," I repeat after him like I'm answering a drill call. He calms down again when I say the word. I'm not really taking in what he's saying anymore, I just need to make some mad rush for the door or something.

"Yes. So, sometimes they'd stay at our flat. Very. Thin. Walls. Are you following me?"

"Yes."

"It's so pleasant talking to you. Have you ever thought of going into psychotherapy as a profession? A change of career, maybe? Because you're a very good listener. You're better than my therapist, he's shit, but he is only a therapist. I chose him  _because_  he's shit. You remind me of the last person I spoke to about my problems. He was a good listener too, but he was in a coma. Anyway, I failed an exam because of it. Because of the thin walls. I couldn't revise, I couldn't think, just bang bang bang fucking through the walls and me in my pyjamas with a candlewick bedspread. Do you know when L changed? Course you don't. It was when he bought black sheets for his bed. I thought it was because he was lazy and he wouldn't have to wash them so often, but black sheets were very in at the time and they were sex, that's what they meant. It was a code and a mental prompt when he woke up in the morning that he should never sleep alone. God knows how he got through university. I think he was born with the law preinstalled. First year, fine, fuck, fuck, fuck, but then they actually expect you to do things, so all that stops then. Not for L. Never stopped for L. Is that fair? Why am I asking you, you were probably the same. He's always saying that you're the same but you're not the same, you're nothing like him, you're ugly to me, something vile, like dog shit on the pavement. How are you feeling there, son?"

"I think that I should -"

"But at least the sheets weren't satin and slidey. Black, satin and slidey like some old tart's bedroom, no, you need good grip in bed. What are these?" he asks, stroking my leg through the sheet.

"Egyptian cotton," I say, moving my leg away from him.

"Thread count?"

"I'd guess that they were three hundred. They're not great."

"Oh. At least they're not black," he grumbles, forgetting the sheets to stare again at the orange poster above the bed. "Where was I? Oh, yes. But before David, just before David, there was this one time. L came back drunk in the middle of the night and got into my bed. He did that. He doesn't like being alone sometimes but not all the time, he's like a cat in that respect. You should have seen him then. He didn't look that much different, but he smiled a lot more and he didn't wear those cunting suits. I had to scrub my face with sandpaper and had quite bad acne at times, but he'd just roll out of bed looking like a beautiful thing. Like something out of a magazine. I thought then, he's the kind of person people write books about, because he's art, that's what he is. Not many people noticed. I was always surprised that they didn't stop and stare at him, because I did. Eeeeee, I have a photo!" he howls, making me jump. He reaches inside his trouser pocket and pulls out his wallet with the same hand that holds the knife. Fuck, it's a big knife. "Do you want to see a photo?" he asks. "See my photo."

He shows me a photo. He shows me two photos. In one, a teenage L has one eye closed and is in the middle of saying something while holding a can of coke, and in the other one he's in a duffle coat on some hill and he doesn't look happy to be there. They're not good photos but I wouldn't care if they were, I'm just worried about that massive knife.

"Beautiful. Yes?" B asks me, like a salesman. His eagerness is frightening and I struggle over how to respond.

"I... guh... puh."

"I know, he has that effect on me sometimes too," he nods with understanding, putting the photos back in his wallet. I like L a lot but I don't think anyone could rival B in terms of blind devotion. He's like Misa, only not as highly strung. Now I know why L keeps him around.

"No, I... I just don't know what to say," I tell him, pulling the sheets closer up towards my chest. I'm thinking of making some sudden trapping move by throwing the sheet over him and his knife. "Is there a point to this?"

"He doesn't have very good taste in suits, does he?"

"He has a Dior one which is -"

"Yes, but generally he shouldn't wear suits. That's what I think," he says, and scratches the back of his neck. His eyes lock on the picture above my head again and his voice becomes so slow and wistful that his lisp becomes more pronounced, making every 's' whistle softly as he speaks. "So, he got into my bed and he was drunk and his breath stank of wine, he always liked wine, the Judge was in a wine club. He just stank. And he was laughing, not completely plastered, and this wasn't unusual because he was like that a lot then. The pubs in town used to water down the drinks, so it took a long time to get completely, depressive drunk. And he was talking to me. He asked me why I never saw anyone. I said that I was asexual, I'd decided. I was asexual and I was going to test a theory I had about the psychological effect of celibacy on someone who doesn't give a shit and, I couldn't say this then, you don't admit to things like this when you're that age, but I just don't like people. He didn't think that was true. He didn't believe that I was asexual, I mean. I said, 'How would you know?' And he kissed me. The only time he ever did, properly. And then he said to me, right in my face, he said to me: 'You're not asexual. And you like boys, by the way. Welcome to the club.' Then he laughed and turned over and went to sleep, just like that. I touched his back. Turn around, turn around. But he was already asleep."

"Oh." Is that all? This is getting stranger by the minute.

"You might be able to understand this, since you're full of oxytocin. I love L. I have done since I first saw him. I couldn't speak because I'd never seen anything like him before and I never have since. Nothing close. He was just better than me, better than anyone. It was a bad time, because at that age most children don't have a very fixed sense of self; no idea who they are, which is why they look for role models. I've thought about this a lot, and I think that I would have hated him if he wasn't my friend. Everyone always thought I was weird, I don't know why, but you end up believing it when everyone says that you're weird and old women cross the street when they see you. My own father crossed the street when he saw me, but L didn't. He said to me: 'You're not weird. Everyone else is.' Do you know what that meant?" he asks me, looking at me now and not the wall. "To be accepted. To be accepted by someone like him."

Fuck.

"I'm sure it was very nice," I say, as insipidly as I can. I'm alone in a house with a raving lunatic with a knife and an L fixation and I'm in his fixation's bed.

"It  _was_  very nice," he agrees, still staring into my eyes. I feel like this is that moment in films when a villain confesses to someone, knowing that they're not going to tell anyone else because he's going to chop their head off soon. My head is going to be in that pot. I have to get out of here. But no sudden movements.

"Should I make a cup of tea?" I ask.

"We don't have any tea!" he gasps like it's a shock to him. "I knocked that jar over too. And the milk. And the sugar. I'm very clumsy."

"Maybe some water then."

"You're just like L, he does that. When he feels awkward he finds something else to distract himself with. And now you do that."

"People do that."

"I don't know about people, I know about L. Do I make you feel awkward? I know you're naked under there but there's no need to worry, really. I'm asexual, remember? L lies but he's also wrong sometimes, he just thinks that he's right. It's his ego. So I'm asexual, there's no need to worry. I would look at you in a purely clinical fashion. That might not be true, but psychologically I've convinced myself that it is, just like L's convinced himself that he's in love with you and you've convinced yourself that you're not a psycho raving mad stab stab stab."

"I'm... just thirsty."

"Try to cope. You're not in the Sahara and you don't look dehydrated. Let me see your gums," he says, suddenly leaning towards me. His knees bump against my legs and he tries to pull up my top lip with his arrow-like fingers.

"Get away from me!" I shout. I push him back automatically, and his eyes widen so much that they look like glass eyes on a patched together taxidermy display of a mutant at a freak show. His hand is still outstretched towards me with his poised fingers like pincers. I can't read him, I can only feel the menacing hatred which is being restrained on both sides. "What do you want?" I ask. He drops his hand but doesn't say anything for a moment.

"He told me that he hit you. Did he hit you? It's ok, I know the answer, you can tell me."

"Look, I'd really like to have a shower and put some clothes on now if -"

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear again. It's a problem with you. I thought that we decided not to let a language barrier come between us," he says, hitting the mattress firmly with his fist suddenly. Then, whether he's aware of it or not, he scratches his head with the handle of the knife so now I couldn't pretend that I didn't notice it even if I wanted to. "When I said that you can tell me, I meant that you  _have_  tell me. It's a demand, not an invitation."

"In the past," I concede. I think that maybe there's nothing that L hasn't told him, and I don't know why he'd want to talk to anyone apart from me. I feel like I've been violated because L gave someone the key to the door. B drops the hand holding the knife to his lap, no longer making any attempt to hide it from me. It makes me bizarrely cooperative in answering his questions.

"Have you hit him?"

"No."

"I think that's a lie. I know that's a lie. I want to kill you for hitting him. I have to vocalise that. We have to vocalise intense anger otherwise it builds and builds and one day your heart stops. What was it like, when he hit you?"

"Well, it was… he was hitting me."

"Punching you. In the face."

"Yeah."

"Like Mike Tyson, I know. He said that you let him."

"You don't really have much say in it when someone's punching you."

"But you could have stopped him, he said. You like being hit. You like being hurt."

"No, that's stupid."

"If he hits you, it's something though, isn't it? It means something."

"It means that he's hitting me."

"It means that he cares enough to hit you, that's what you think."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes, you do. Because you don't like yourself. No one does like themselves really because they know themselves too well. Can't get away from ourselves because we're all locked inside. But you don't like yourself and you don't  _like_  that you don't like yourself because what is there not to like? And when he hits you and he hurts you, it's because you deserve it. That's why you let him do it."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"You're very mixed up in the head. You need me to tell you what's going on with you and you have to accept it and move forwards like a brave little soldier. I could help you, but I can't be bothered. I'll just let L carry on hitting you because it seems to be working. He told me about you. All about you. The first time he mentioned you, he spoke about you for such a long time that I knew you were trouble. Then a year went by and he was still talking about you. Two years went by and he was  _still_  talking about you, only now he was asking me to explain you. What was wrong with you? You feel nothing, you said. He told me. You felt nothing but he felt everything. You were trouble. He came to visit me for a holiday and he spent the whole time talking about you. And when he wasn't talking about you, he was texting you, remember?"

"When he went to Paris?" I ask. I sneak a look at the clock on L's table and try to guess how much time has passed since he left. He's probably still standing in an aisle somewhere trying to decide between Columbian and Sumatran.

"Yes, when he went to Paris. I took him to Versailles. He likes Versailles. He likes the revolution but the grandeur's still there. He likes the Trianon. The revolution happened and Napoleon moved in. Can't resist grandeur, can you? It represents something awful but you can't resist it. People are still starving outside but you can't resist a bit of grandeur. That's what you are; grandeur, can't resist it. I said: 'Look at the mirrors. You can see us from all sides and angles.' We were in the Hall of Mirrors. He didn't look, he didn't care because you'd just sent him a text message. You wanted a limited edition tie from Chanel and you could only buy it in-store. No matter that there are Chanel stores in Tokyo, you wanted one from Paris. He thought that was funny. You know what we did? We left so L could find you this fucking horrendous limited edition tie from Chanel. You were trouble. I hated you and I didn't even know you. I know you now, see right through you and I still hate you. Then three years went by and you'd fucked him up royally, you really had. I could tell because he wasn't talking about you, he didn't mention you. Then the Judge died and I stayed with L in London for the funeral and to help him pack up the Judge's things and he loved the Judge, he really did, but his father was a bastard and he didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve L. L was some fluke in the system. The Judge treated him like shit but threw him the occasional bone with scraps of meat on it, some small sign of pride or love. Nothing really, but he gave L his last mint imperial once and you'd think that it was a car by the way L talked about it. The thing with L is that if you show him the slightest sign of affection, he's loyal to you for life. He can't help it, it's like a prize to him. That's what happens to someone who has no affection given to them in those formative years sometimes. They look for it everywhere in every little thing, even where there is none. Like you. His mother loved him. He was her favourite and he loved her, but when she was leaving he sided with his father and she gave up on him. Do you know why he sided with his father? Because his father was the one who'd been wronged. This was all happening and I'd worry he would go with his mother, she was moving back to Japan and wanted to take him with her, but L stayed. I asked him to stay because I was selfish, but I don't know if that had any bearing on his decision. He saw wrong and right and he chose right over wrong and look where it got him. Stuck with a loveless man who didn't see the sacrifice his son had made. Maybe the Judge loved him, I don't know, but he thought his children should be grateful because he'd given them life. Life but no love. That's how you're going to be when your child's born, isn't it? The whole family are a load of cunts, but the Judge gave L his name. He hasn't told you his name then? Do you know L's name?"

"Lawliet."

"Don't be stupid, his  _name!_ " he says aggressively. His tone changes so quickly that I'm constantly on edge, not knowing which way he'll go. That and the knife is his problem. Right now, he's angry, but then he smiles. "He really hasn't told you. That's good. Do you know what that says to me? It says that he still doesn't trust you. That, and you haven't asked because you don't care."

"I do care."

"Then why haven't you asked? No matter. He said that you gave him your name straight away. 'My name is Light,' you said. You were 'giving him permission,' you said. You were a funny one, weren't you? A regular little heartbreaker." He taps the knife against his thigh in irritation and I know that he'd rather be driving it into my chest instead. "L told me that it wasn't really your name. He said that he called you Light for some reason I wouldn't understand because why would I understand? I wanted to ask him. Why would he think that I wouldn't understand his sentimentality to give you nicknames, but that was exactly what worried me about you. He said that it wasn't your name but I wouldn't be able to pronounce your name, so we should call you Light. But I didn't believe him. No romantic nicknames for a shag, no, never, so I googled you and, what do you know? Light Yagami is a politician in Japan and he's very pretty. I saw an interview with you on youtube and the interviewer called you Raito. Rait-fucking-O. That's a bit shit, isn't it? It suits you. But that  _was_  your name. L's very stupid sometimes. He's very clever but he's also very stupid; most clever people are, they underestimate everyone else.

"So, three years later, there we were packing up the Judge's things and ignoring court orders and L didn't talk about you, he did anything to avoid talking about you. He didn't say much at all about anything and I expected that to some degree, but he never broke down and spilled his guts to me like I thought he would. He came to Paris with me for a week and he  _still_  didn't talk about you. How do you go from changing my schedule so he could find you a fucking awful Chanel tie and asking me for a mind map straight to your heart, to never mentioning you again? Not even to say that you're a cunt, which you are, I hope you know that. 'I think he loves me, I know he does,' that's what he said to me once in my favourite caf _é_  and I couldn't go back there again after he said that, I never could, I never could, why does he care who loves him or not, he doesn't need you, but he wanted some way to make you love him and nothing worked, and I still don't know exactly what happened with you two, maybe you'll tell me, and I don't know, I don't understand how anyone wouldn't love him, but you're a malignant narcissist and a psychopath, you see things and you're self obsessed, L could only ever be decoration to you, some kind of extension of yourself, maybe, your support system, you can't understand feelings like that.

"But you were trouble. So I asked him about you in the end. I've never had to ask him before, he just tells me because I'm a bottomless pit for his secrets, I know. He can give them to me and I'll keep them safe for him. He said that you'd 'called it off'. Exact words. You were getting married, he didn't care, but he did care, if he didn't care, he wouldn't say that he didn't, he just wouldn't care, don't you agree? He was defending you. 'You can't fuck a man in politics, B. He wouldn't get anywhere if we started holding hands, and I want him to get somewhere.'  _Fuck_ , you were so much trouble. Then he was back in London and the case finished and he was going back to Japan and I said: 'Why? Stay!' You had him under contract and he had to go. So he went, he met Stephen, he hardly mentioned him. I came over for Christmas and saw you. You were definitely trouble. You were also really, stupidly in love with him and completely fucked over and desperate, which surprised me, and he was with you, which didn't surprise me. He just wanted to humiliate you, you know that, don't you? At the party. He just wanted to hurt you. That's why he went."

"I know," I say. I'm dry and empty. I want to go back to sleep right now while he's talking to me and wallow in his voice so it rockets around my mind while I'm asleep and let it do whatever it wants. Find and destroy whatever it wants.

"Yes, you know. I spoke to him afterwards and he told me about what you'd done," he mumbles, sounding bored. He looks over the surface over the table next to the bed and his eyes light up when he finds something. He holds a round metal cufflink up to show me and, God, not that. "Ooooh, look at these. He bought you these. You actually wear them? Ha! That's funny. So you wear the cufflinks he bought you with his initial on?"

"It's my initial too."

"Don't be stupid, you're so stupid, it's his initial and you know it. So, does that mean that you're his now? Is this your branding mark, Prime Minister? Some cheap piece of shit he bought with me? Are you fucked? Yes. Yes, I think you are. He bought these in anger for you as a joke because it was the only thing he could think of which would be more hurtful than not buying you anything at all, but you've made them into something sentimental -"

"They're not sentimental."

"Hmmmm... Well, whatever you say. Where was I?" he asks, putting the cufflink back on the table. "Can't say that you didn't deserve it anyway. I know what you've done to him. He told me about what you've done. Elevators and shag pads and he hit you and you let him. He was very cruel about you. I was shocked by how cruel he was, laughing at you, because even for him it was cruel, but I knew that it was a lie because he lies. You were trouble. You thought he'd had sex with you when he hadn't, had he? He wasn't even there. I'm very interested in it because it could point to a neuroanatomical or pathophysiological problem. It could be a one-off manic episode, which isn't as interesting, but there are definitely some abnormalities in your grey matter anyway. Reduction in the right medial temporal, lateral temporal, inferior frontal gyrus and bilateral reduction in the cingulate cortex, or something like that. Do you know what those words mean?"

I blink slowly like I'm trying to clear it all away. It binds me in a cold chain. No, I don't know what those words mean. He gets tired of waiting.

"Brain," he tells me. "Your brain is fucked. It might have been a stress related delusion because a very traumatic event can do that and he did hit you in the head, didn't he? But you also took psychoactive drugs a few years ago. L told me you were a smackhead when he first met you."

"No, I never did sma -"

"Hey, no judging here," he says, lifting his hands in front of him like he's thief caught in the act, "I like drugs. We'd all be dead without chemicals. Nevertheless, they can screw up your brain if you don't know what you're doing, and you wouldn't know what you were doing, not many people do. It depends on whether you'd rather blame your hallucinations on a psychiatric disorder or a tragic consequence of substance abuse. We should discuss it sometime, because if I was your doctor I'd be putting you on some anti-psychotics right now and send you in for an MRI to see what's going on in your noggin. Personally, I think it's psychosis. A complete detachment from reality. Some hallucinations are vivid, substantial perceptions in a conscious state in the absence of external stimuli. They don't normally include all senses though, and sex is a very advanced, complex hallucination to have to the point where it becomes a delusion; a strongly held conviction that it occurred. Well done. Was this a dream or were you actually awake and at a party and believed L was there? I would have liked to have seen you act it out. Some people say that animal therapy helps. Get a dog, maybe? Then again, I'd be worried that you might have an episode and think it was L and have sex with it. Anyway, that's your problem, good luck with that."

"Um, I'm not -"

"But I'm really not concerned with you and your welfare, I'm concerned with L and his welfare. He was trying to move on and you wouldn't let him go. This is all your fault because you're very mixed up in the head and, as I say, I'd help you, but I can't be bothered. I'll let you drown in it. I felt sorry for you in a way because it took a long time for you to realise what love is and you've taken it to a very strange place. Most people think love is sharing a bed and making someone a cup of tea when they're sick, but not for you, no. You didn't need it, it's a very annoying thing and it ruins lives. It would ruin  _your_  life, that's what you thought, and even L saw that. But you can't stop it; it had you and suddenly all the things you wanted and had didn't mean anything, did they? You didn't notice until he wasn't there.  _You_  didn't mean anything. Your personal worth hinges on L and his attention and validation. You became dependant. You ran after him like your life depended on it, and you got him, well done again, but he is stupid and susceptible to sexual advances. I'm very angry with you, because he was ok, he was getting better, he had Stephen and Stephen's a very nice man, he's not trouble, you're trouble, and here you are in his bed and Stephen's gone and so is L. What are you going to do now, Prime Minister?"

"What do you mean?"

"L thinks, because he's stupid, that you're going to leave your job and your wife and your baby that hasn't even been born yet, for him. For you too. It's what you want. Are you going to do that?"

"Yes… I -"

"I don't think you're serious. You're not stupid, not like him, you're not completely stupid. You're not going to do those things but you won't admit it to him or me or yourself because you can't, but you know it. Oh, there's his car. Can you hear it? The engine? Two minutes early on my lowest estimate. He must really want coffee. What I came here to say is that I know. I know and he knows really, he's just stupid and wants to believe you right now. You have a job and you won't give it up for him or yourself or anyone else. You have a job. You're God, he told you. You're God and how can God leave his job? Everything will fall apart. Why do you care so much?"

I breathe out. I can barely feel the relief of hearing L's car. I went past caring a while ago about what B was planning to do. B peers at me and waits a moment for an answer which doesn't come.

"You don't know, you just know that you can't leave," he says.

"I can."

"No, you can't. There can't be a gay Prime Minister, there can't, not a gay Prime Minister, not a bi Prime Minister, just a straight up straight Prime Minister with a pretty wife with a mean mouth and a hoard of children, you can't break the rules, not a Prime Minister who leaves his wife and baby for someone else, a man, his Head of PR, some lawyer, everyone hates lawyers, and it'll be worse for you because they'll look back and see that you've known each other for a long time and they'll think: 'How long's this been going on?' and you'll be dead as a dodo, where's your moral fibre, think of the press, you'll be a joke."

"I don't care."

"But you do care."

He stares at me for another moment until he hears the door open downstairs and a low rumble of L's voice as he drops something and swears, then B stands up to leave. When he turns his back to me, all my emotion comes back. What right has he to judge me and think that he understands me? I make my mind up then. I was going to sit back calmly until he got on his flight and left, but he started this and I consider this the breaking of a fragile treaty. Poor bastard doesn't know what he's got himself into.

"You weren't like this with Stephen, were you?" I ask, making him turn back to me in surprise.

"You're asking me a question?"

"You might think this is about L but it's not. This is about you. Everything you said about me isn't about me, it's about you. L makes you real with his attention, L makes you valid. I know, I felt the same way for a second once, but only for a second. I think it's sad that you don't realise it, but I'm more than a threat. I've already won without even trying. Just by being myself, I've beaten you. How could you ever hope to compete against me in anything? If all you are is L, how can you expect him to pay attention to something that's nothing but a pale reflection of himself? You haven't got the guts to even tell him after nearly thirty years and it's because you know he'll reject you. That's why. You've got to accept that I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. And you can psychobabble as much as you like, but no one has ever beaten me."

"Apart from L, you mean? Your opinion is as important to me as the shipping forecast, Light Yagami. I'm just letting you know that I know. When you're done with him, I'll take him back to Paris with me. I'll find things for him to do. We'll go to Disneyland. He doesn't have a firm in Paris, so there's something for him to do. His French is lovely, you heard it. Sounds like music, doesn't it? He'll forget about you, because I'll make him forget about you. When you go, like the coward you are, never speak to him again and leave him alone. Do you understand? You understand."

No, L wouldn't leave me, not again, and I wouldn't leave him. It didn't work when we were apart and it won't happen again. I like him best when he looks at me without speaking, like he sees his own destruction and he's slow and calm and in love with it. But B's gone and he's shut the door behind him so all these thoughts rattle through my mind with flashes of my dream mixed in. I sit there while they bounce of the walls. My eyes move but I take in colours but no forms, no reality. Black shapes move either side of me and no, no, I won't see them, they're not there. I force them out. I hear L's voice downstairs but can't understand what he's saying. I only hear the timbre of his voice and it makes me come back. I see myself in the mirror and I'm still a stranger. My face is sharp and monstrously perfect. The sun touches me and my skin glows for weeks afterwards. There's not one flaw, not one. It's asphalt which covers hell. I see why some people look away when my eyes are on them. I feel pestilent inside and it shows. Sometimes I can't hide it, like now. No wonder they turn away. B's right about everything.

After a shower and with damp hair, I pull my change of clothes in their plastic sheath off the back of the chair, lay it on the bed and unzip the garment cover, like a Y incision on a dead body to expose what's inside. I look at it. The steel grey suit with no one in it. I'm not myself until I'm in it. I can't do anything until I'm in it.

"Why are you awake? We don't need to go for another two hours," L asks me when I walk into the lounge. He's hasn't gone. He's not dead. He's sitting in a chair next to B. Both of them stare at me with mugs of coffee on the table in front of them, and the smell of it is revolting in its bitterness. I feel like an intruder. A pile of papers which I'll be in, I'm sure, sit on the table. Kiyomi's face is folded on the front page so you can only see her chin and throat but I know it's her. I close my eyes and stretch the skin across my cheekbone with the palm of my hand. Someone's screaming in my head and I stand on the threshold like there's a delay before the day hits me. What's he talking about?

"Coffee," I hear myself say.

"Sit down then," he says as he stands up. So I should sit down as while he stands? He's worried about me. "I'll bring you one."

"You have to meet Stephen today," B tells him brusquely before he sips his coffee. I feel L watching me as I look around the room and try to find something which makes me feel welcome. I know this place. I know these things.

"Thank you for reminding me because I really had forgotten," L replies, still looking at me. I think then that we're like magnetic fields for each other and it's never going to change. It's gone beyond admiration and work and striving for some combined goal to make life interesting for both of us and all those other stupid things. It's going to kill us both and I'll never forgive him. I wish B would go away. Go back to France.

"Are you going to let him come back here and see that Mr Predator stayed over and that he's been sleeping in your bed, Grandma?"

"Shut up, B."

"Can I sit outside?" I ask.

"It's cold out there," L says. There's so much worry around his eyes. Why can't I appreciate it? "Take my coat. I'll be out in a minute." I take his coat as I pass by them and take it out with me like it's a blanket, half-folded in my arms. "What did you do to him?" I hear him ask B.

"Nothing."

"He's not like this when he wakes up. You've done something to him."

"I haven't. The man clearly needs coffee."

"Don't give me that shi -"

I close the glass door so it shuts out the voices. Gusts of wind wrap around me and swirl in my the shell of the ear like a forked tongue. I walk towards a set of metal chairs spread around a table and everything's too bright. Stephen knows the truth in his heart and I'm going to fail like the coward I am. I do care.

I kick in so quickly. All of me wakes up so quickly. My hand reaches into my pocket and I lean back against the chair with L's coat lying across my lap as I light a cigarette. I don't even want one. It's like something else is making decisions for me, trying to remind me of who I am.

A few minutes later, the door slides open and L walks towards me - it must be, it wouldn't be anyone else - but my eyes are on a fixed point in the distance, like the lake is a road to somewhere and I can't tear my eye away from it, not even to look at him. I can't take my eyes off the road. It's only the sound of a cup being placed on the table that tells me that he's close to me. He puts his hand on my shoulder and I hand him his coat which I haven't even looked at.

"I'm sorry about B," he says.

The mouthful of coffee I've taken makes me vicious with immediate effect. I could kill someone right now. Nothing can touch me. I am closed. My pain is numbing in its intensity; a sea of uncertainty, my indifference to the pain of others. I am above it all. I'll do what's right for them, because they don't know what that could possibly be. I feed on everyone's complete detachment from themselves.

"Do you have any idea at all of when he might be fucking off?"

"Patience, now. Is he upsetting you?" he asks as he sits down, drawing the chair in towards the table. I look at him with his hands cupped around the mug as the only warm thing here. And he found the coat. He's wearing it for me. He's wearing that coat and his Dior suit just for me, like those layers could make me think more of him. I inhale and expel smoke and carbon dioxide.

"No. It's just annoying that he's here."

"Well, hold fire. He'll only be a few more days at most. This is a break for him. You know, he works very hard. He doesn't take any time off."

"You need to take me to the hospital before work, ok? I'll just show my face, so you can wait outside."

"It'd be my pleasure. Light, I have a present for you."

"Yeah, coffee."

"No, not coffee. Come back inside."

I follow him back inside for the promise of something which might be interesting. If he thinks it is then it must be, I suppose. B's still where he was and he watches L with big round eyes like cameras. Speaking of, there's what looks like a big camera bag on the table.

"Is that my present?" I ask.

"Yes, and it comes with a story. I was just driving along when I saw a car pulled up at the roadside. Illegally parked, I might add. And all these tripods were on the roof. So, I pull over to investigate, you know me, and what did I find? A man up a fucking tree with a telephoto lens on his camera which was pointed right at my house. So I say to him: 'Excuse me, good sir, but why are you taking photographs of my house? Would you like to buy it?' He comes down from the tree and admits that he's had a tip-off that the PM's staying at my house. He was a bit cagey about the source but eventually he was very cooperative and, I'm very sorry, Light, but someone on your security is very free with giving information to freelancers. You're devastated because of your wife being admitted to hospital and all that drama. It's a big story. I say: 'Well that's not very nice now, is it? That's an invasion of privacy.' Anyway, he was only doing his job and he was quite a nice man, really. I still took his camera though. Look at this baby."

He reaches inside a bag on the table and holds up an disgustingly large camera. My mind races to the first fear I have, which is that the photographer got a photo of me asleep in L's bed even though I know that's not possible unless that camera can see through closed blinds. I find it ridiculous for a moment how something like sex, which only means anything to the people involved and often not even then, could be such a devastating thing to my image. I should have a harem if I want one. A house plated in gold because of who I am. I can see the photo in the paper already, all grainy from distance. If not of me in his bed, then just a photo of me being in his house is damaging. I'm too friendly with my Head of PR and I should only be friendly with him on a basic, work-related level. My friends should be politically neutral and well chosen, like good people who raise money for charity. Any innocent photo of me here would say that I'm stressed about my wife. I'm stressed about my life. They're all looking for a sign of weakness from me. Me with the world on my shoulders and struggling to juggle the responsibility of millions alongside my desperate attempts of having a life. That's how they'll see it. But all I see is choosing that – the easier option - being a coward, B being right. He has to go.

"Break it," I tell him. He pauses, standing still in his suit and looking at me like I'm sex incarnate. Yes, break his bones.

"It's worth a lot of money. I was just going to delete the memory cards and give it back."

"Break it and then give it back to him."

He swallows and starts hyperventilating, I think. "Play football with me?" he gasps. "B, do you want to join in?"

"No," B says, dense with disapproval. He drinks his coffee while L and I smile at each other. I see L on the dining table with his legs spread for me and ripping the shirt from my back while B drinks his coffee and pretends that it's not happening, no, it's not happening. If this is the way it could be then he can stay for as long as he likes. I can think of no better torture for him than to throw reality in his face and degrade L in his eyes forever.

L tilts his hands so the camera falls to the floor with a thud and the sound of breaking insides. We're like two children, silent and smiling with the havoc we're causing. A livelihood we might be wrecking, a broken promise, vengeance against everything that keeps us apart. He kicks the camera towards me and it rolls and bounces across the wooden floor until I stop it by pressing my foot on top of it, then I kick it back to him. He kicks it into the wall and it scuffs the paint with black plastic. Parts fly off from it and soon we're left with a tangle of wires and shards of plastic and broken glass. He carefully picks up the hulk of what remains and inspects it a face which is hot with the thrill of it.

"Oh dear. I think we killed it," he says.

"I think we did. It's definitely dead." I agree, walking over to examine the fairly tame destruction we've caused when you compare it to the lives we've destroyed over the years, but it's always deserved. Everyone deserves it. My hand move over the representative broken carcass to touch his warm fingers and his wrist until I can feel his pulse throbbing underneath a thin veil of skin. His eyes half close with whatever foreplay this is. I want him on that table and B can watch. I love the idea of B or of anyone watching and crying and beating me on the back with closed fists. "How are we doing for time?" I ask.

"Oh, we never have anywhere near enough," he whispers, shaking his head slightly at the situation we're condemned to. I suppose that it might be romantic, this living in moments between wide desert expanses of other people and other things and other jobs. He drops the camera and I hear it shatter and scatter across the floor. It makes me gnaw at his lip and he swings his arms around my neck in something which could be a choking hold in another situation, and only so he crushes our faces closer together. It's a lovely way to die, this kind of asphyxiation.

"This is completely fucked!" I hear B say faintly a few feet away. Well, yes. That was the point. Shut that chasm of a mouth and watch this, you bastard. "Could you get sued for this, L? L?"

But L's not in his office at the moment. He snaps his teeth together close to my lips while we laugh to ourselves softly, and B crouches on the floor at our feet, where he should be. Oh, God. It's just so suggestive to me of so many things when L's smothering me and B's on the floor picking up the broken pieces, but then I feel something clamp onto my tongue. I open my eyes to see L's eyes staring right back at me, hardly in focus because we're so close. He presses his teeth hard into my tongue as he smiles and he stays like that for a drawn out moment, making sure that I've got the message. The message is that he could shut me up forever and mar me. I want him to do it do it do it do it but I'm terrified that he will. I'll never speak again because of him. What am I without a clear voice? All I am will be trapped within me forever. No one will pay any attention to a speaker who can't speak. I'll have only letters and hand movements, not words. I stay so still with anxiety and loving the idea when he releases me and steps back, waiting to see what I'll do.

I smile at him and his smugness while the tingling, throbbing blood rushes back into the constricted tissue. I run it numbly along the roof of my mouth, then I slap him hard across the face so his head turns sharply to one side. He looks back at me after a second with a blushing welt appearing on his cheek.

"Hey!" B shouts, grabbing my arm and trying to drag me away, like he could. "That's it. Your head is going in that pot."

"You bitchslapped me," L whispers, in awe of me. He puts his hand on B's, who immediately relaxes his grip on my arm. I don't know why I didn't think of it before, but I see some catastrophic heresy with B and L and me. I haven't done something like that for a long time and I could make them both raw with pain, I could. I could split B open and L would hold his hand while I do it. I should suggest it sometime before he goes, but I doubt this moment would ever come again. And it would be L who I'd have to convince, not B. B would fly around the world as many times as it took if L showed him the tiniest glimmer of interest, whether I was involved or not. 'Turn around, turn around. But he was already asleep.' I'd give B a present and then tear it away from him. But I watch the bloom grow on L's face and kiss it, feeling the injured warmth under my lips as I speak.

"Because you're a bitch."

He smiles again, the skin stretching tight. When he touches me or looks at me or speaks to me, he reminds me that all my cells are alive and screaming for him and that even the tip of my tongue is his. That I stayed there knowing that he could, almost hoping that he would leave his fucking mark on me. I wonder if he feels the same and whether he thinks the same. Far behind his beautiful breathing, B talks at us in his rapid way, and I squeeze my eyes tighter because I could so easily shut him up. I'd love to see him collapse into L and L only doing it because I asked him to. The feeling between us all would be poles apart and it'd be so funny to watch. Anger and frustration paints itself on my forehead and I settle for the closest thing to hurt B, so I kiss L harder. I don't know if B's watching. I think that he must turn a blind eye to anything like this, like he's trying to ignore everything which reminds him of his truth. L moves his face to press it against my cheek and his back heaves under my hands.

"We should go," he suggests and pulls away to take the camera out of B's hands. "We'll have to smash this thing some more later on to get the memory card out. Get yourself ready, Light. We'll get something to eat on the way."

"Ok."

"We'll be back later, B," L tells him carelessly as he picks up his briefcase, then he looks at me like we might take a detour on the way so he can finish what he started, but it seems pointless without B seeing it or hearing it. Poor Kiyomi. Poor unborn child. And L is so dismissive of B when he speaks to him sometimes, because he knows that he'll always be there no matter how he treats him. He spoke to me like that once, over weeks and months, and it hurt like someone threw a drawer full of knives at me. He might not even realise that he makes you feel like you're there only for him to discard in favour of something more interesting. And you stay there waiting for him to come back to you, because when he does, he makes you real again.

But my lips are wet from him. Did you see, B? Did you see my lips shining from him? I'm hard because of him, my tongue hurts because of him. I drink my coffee and feel it tingling on my tongue while I watch B. But B doesn't look at me really, just a glance as he walks past L towards the kitchen to gaze longingly at a pot on the hob, probably, and to wish that he was me. I'm going to make him suffer before he leaves. And when he does leave, even that will be painful.

* * *

 **A/N**  Sorry for Light's long political monologue of mad, his dream, and for B's French section. I couldn't avoid the French (I tried) because the only way I saw him making any kind of confession would be if he was sure of not being understood by Light (+ weird affinity while hating each other's guts). Plus, B's pretentious in this. Let's throw in a different language to emphasise that. Thanks to Alexandre for doing a lovely translation into French for me. With no disrespect to him, thanks to Bleu for revising the translation that's here as of 10/11/15. Also thanks to Lex who also looked at this for me. Here's the English with some stolen and twisted dialogue from B in  _Another Note._

"Good. I want to talk to you. I'm not sure what makes him so charming. He's a very handsome man, and he was a beautiful boy, but it means nothing without personality. You know it's all a mask, don't you? Underneath, he is just a broken bird. Just like that blackbird I found when I first met him. He was everything I wanted to be. All I ever wanted. You have never known what it's like to love and be ignored, not really. He lied. Love has no intrinsic value. All it is is oxytocin, phenethylamine and dopamine. When I realised that, I knew that I have become a corpse. I cannot answer. I am dead."

And the quote at the beginning of the chapter is from The Misanthrope by Molière to continue the French theme we have here. I'm hoping to update again later or tomorrow (EDIT Actually might be a couple of days because things have turned up, but still shouldn't be too long. If I get to 100 reviews WTF! I'll try to rush out something) and tie up most of the loose ends to leave things clear for honest to God actual plot, plot, plot until the end. Praise be. Thanks again for the reviews (!) and thanks especially to lovely people on tumblr for being brilliant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for Light's long political monologue of mad, his dream, and for B's French section. I couldn't avoid the French (I tried) because the only way I saw him making any kind of confession would be if he was sure of not being understood by Light (+ weird affinity while hating each other's guts). Plus, B's pretentious in this. Let's throw in a different language to emphasise that. Thanks to Alexandre for doing a lovely translation into French for me. With no disrespect to him, thanks to Bleu for revising the translation that's here as of 10/11/15. Also thanks to Lex who also looked at this for me. Here's the English with some stolen and twisted dialogue from B in Another Note.
> 
> "Good. I want to talk to you. I'm not sure what makes him so charming. He's a very handsome man, and he was a beautiful boy, but it means nothing without personality. You know it's all a mask, don't you? Underneath, he is just a broken bird. Just like that blackbird I found when I first met him. He was everything I wanted to be. All I ever wanted. You have never known what it's like to love and be ignored, not really. He lied. Love has no intrinsic value. All it is is oxytocin, phenethylamine and dopamine. When I realised that, I knew that I have become a corpse. I cannot answer. I am dead."


	12. I Know Exactly Why I Walk And Talk Like A Machine

"You look better," I lie smoothly. She looks terrible, like an actress (who looks bad anyway) who has been plastered in wax and makeup in order to play a convincing corpse. I think of a short story I read when I was five or six. I picked it up by accident in the library because the cover looked interesting to me. Some woman with a skull-like face was dressed in torn rags and had bloody, ripped fingernails. She looked like that because she'd been buried alive and she'd clawed at the inside of her coffin. That's what Kiyomi looks like to me now. My mother tore the book out of my hands before I could finish the story, and I never did finish it – I never thought about it again until now – but I remember thinking that it was a sad romance of a brother and his sister. It was a few years until I realised that to marry your sister is wrong, but I suppose that I did it anyway. I married my sister, I'm in love with my brother and he twists around me like a strangling vine. We're all going to be buried alive because of the morbid, grotesque sexuality which pollutes my thoughts.

"Do you think?" she asks me, suddenly girl-like and stupid as she strokes her hair down shyly. She never used to be quite so easily flattered, but she must be starved of her expected level of attention, so she'll take anything she can get. She makes me feel sick then; sick and hypersensitive to the sight and sound of her, so I stand from the death watch chair and walk to the window to watch over the view below instead. Somewhere down there, hidden by fluffed up trees, L's waiting for me in his car. I have a lot to do today. I have to sack my chief of security, I have to replace him, I have to give a live radio interview, and I'm filled with a dark intent to gift something to L, or defy B, I'm not sure which. "I put makeup on," Kiyomi says, reminding me that she's still here.

"Oh. Well, even if it is fake, you look lovely."

"That's horrible," she growls, like an angry cat. It makes me smile down on the plague of people outside. Yes, slash and dig your claws right into me, you bitter woman.

"The truth  _is_  horrible. Like the truth is that you're an incubator."

"I know that," she snaps after barely a second's pause, so I wonder if she started answering before she'd heard my full summary of her or whether she heard it at all. Did I even say it? "But if that's true then it's your fault."

"Yes. I did do that, didn't I."

After a few moments of the heaviest silence, she brokenly begs me to come over to her. She asks me again when I don't immediately report for duty - having been distracted by some mild altercation over parking spaces in the hospital car park below - but I walk to her sullenly and sit on the bed for her to clasp my hand in hers like desperate lovers. "It's not fair."

"No. But you're doing well. I'm pleased with you," I tell her and kiss her cheek while my eyes remain open to look at the slow rising and dipping green line on the monitor behind her. She starts dripping kisses on my face until she suddenly freezes, and I know that she's looking at the line of my jaw and the suckling bloody mark left by L's mouth. I told him not to, but he was determined and we laughed about it afterwards, and there was no more than that at the side of a quiet road facing the lake. We're abnormal in our permanent storm of mauling each other, like the whole thing can't be sustained for long so we should try to pack a life into five minutes. My challenge for today, as set by my dream teacher, is to conceal it or prevent it from being noticed, but I've failed already. If Kiyomi asks me, I don't have an excuse, and I'm not sure if I want to think of one. The idea of being discovered fills me with a manic pride and urge to laugh instead what I'd anticipated, which was a peace of mind like the dying light of a late afternoon. I am learned simply through the passage of time. I've known opposition, victory, despair, hatred and love through walking the same path as one man. It's unbearable waiting. Ask me.

But she kisses the mark instead, so we will continue to live as strangers. The bruise under my skin and what it represents isn't there, not for her. Or do we have that kind of relationship where everything is understood and accepted as long as her place is secure as my little queen. Am I absolved?

She leans back on her pillows and reaches for a magazine from the table next to her, opening it up in front of my face – the only sign that her acceptance is reluctantly given and that nothing will be said unless I force the issue. I'm disappointed but unsurprised, and leave her to return to the window.

"I have a bill coming up," I say, already bored and frustrated enough with her fear and wilful ignorance. "I'm going to discuss it in a cabinet meeting this afternoon, I think."

"You think?"

"I'm not sure yet. Perhaps it's too early."

"Indecisiveness is just what this country needs."

Oh! A little cat scratch. I lean against the windowsill to watch her passive aggressiveness ooze from her as she reads the magazine.

"You think I'm indecisive?" I ask.

"Weak. My father never sat on bill proposals. It's why he had the reputation and respect that he had. He always had his thoughts together and was strong in his convictions, otherwise how are you going to get a bill through the House if you can't even look like you believe in it in front of your own cabinet? You can be  _too_  careful, Light."

She turns a page.

"Maybe that's why his bill proposals were so few and far between. And I sat in on meetings for his proposals, when he did have one, and he was a stammering, sweating mess, Kiyomi."

She looks at me with a dislike I'd never seen from her before, not even directed towards someone I knew she despised. She knows, despite her talk of convictions, that I'm telling the truth. Her father rode on a wave of pomp with nothing to back it up. Just because he died doesn't change that. No respect is due.

"How dare you."

"And they were pointless bills. Only backbenchers turned up to vote."

"Be quiet."

"The truth is horrible, isn't it? Maybe if he put more time and consideration into his bills and  _had_  convictions in the first place instead of a lot of money, then he would have been this glorious politician with the respect you think he had."

Smiling would be vulgar, but it's hard not to. I think that this might be the most intimate we've ever been, and she looks at me now like she might kill me if she had the means and strength to do it. It goes back to that night when she must have watched me speak about her father's tragic death on repeat on TV until it brainwashed her. He was an inspiration to me. No. No, that was a lie.

"Go back to your whore, Light," she says. "You... policeman's son." And I do laugh at that. Cross my arms and laugh like it's an aside in a barely funny film. She spits out her supposed insult without realising how stupid she sounds. I walk over to her slowly and her expression doesn't change, not even when I lean down towards her.

"Your bit of rough."

"Your child will be so ugly," she whispers with a curling, disgusted lip.

"He might be lucky," I smile as I move away from her. "He might look like me."

"Just go. I can't bear to look at you."

"I don't have the time anyway, as fun is this is. Is it worth me calling in later or can you really not bear to look at me? I am your husband after all."

"I  _might_  see you tomorrow."

"Oh! Well, I'll look forward to seeing if you'll bless me with an audience in your presence. By the way, I found a clinic for you out of the city. It's more secure. Have a nice day," I say, picking up my briefcase and coat. The hospital security are waiting for me outside to see me to L's car, and they jump to attention when I open the door.

"Light," Kiyomi says behind me. It's irritating to be beckoned back, but it's worth it just to close the door again on the guards' faces.

"Hmm?"

"After the baby's born, we'll go back to how we were, won't we?"

"I didn't know that anything had changed."

* * *

And I don't know how I fit all these things into my day.

L doesn't ask about Kiyomi and I don't speak about her. In fact, we don't really speak at all and part ways in the lobby, since I was cornered by one of my fraudulent fascists. And after an exhausting morning of strange moments and intense boredom, I call for a cabinet meeting. It's unusual, because the immediacy makes it sound like an emergency, which it isn't, but it makes the opposition nervous. It makes everyone nervous. If they knew the reason why it's been called then they'd be surprised. I want to give L a present before I get rid of his friend. He'll see it as a sign of my devotion and of things to come. We'll be kicking cameras and each other forever, and I'll be rewarded and have leverage against his impatience in the mean time. But as soon as I sent the memo, I wondered whether I was too hasty. I don't do things like this on the fly to get my Head of PR or anyone else. My intentions are not good, so maybe the bill isn't either. I live in sanity but my mind is full of ways to impress him like he's the only thing that matters. I don't even know why I'm doing this anymore, and I'm a few steps away from being like him, I can feel it. If I end up doing good things, it'll be by accident or because of the challenge, but I could back out now and he'd be none the wiser.

We're in Mihael's choice of bar and I know immediately that it's not politically correct for me to be here. Firstly, there are overtly Christian overtones in the décor. Secondly, there are women in bunny outfits being dragged around by suits who hold silk ribbons attached to the girls' necks. The fact that it's just after noon just makes me more concerned about the reputation of this place. I should be demanding that it's shut down, not drinking here. My (as of this morning) newly promoted bodyguard and chief of security – an unhappy man who's been unhappily married half of his life – sits several tables away from me and looks at the girls in distant longing for the different and temporary. These girls are made to be thrown away, like all pretty things. Is that what B said, or is it what I think?

The roof garden is secured off for us, because I'm important and the people I'm with are chosen. The chairs are backwards forwards, and I don't understand how they work exactly, but they spring you up and down when you move somehow as a result. An exposed roof garden is a place I rarely go because I always think that I'm just asking for a sniper to gun me down. I have a retraction typed out on my phone with a send button flashing, begging me to press it. Would I look weak and indecisive if I sent it?

"So, Shiori's like: 'Let's give it another go, Teru,' and I'm like: 'No, Shiori. I hate you. Let's not.' That's how it went," Mikami says, gulping down his glass of tonic water. I hope there's some gin in it, otherwise Naomi's well and truly got the better of him. No, officially my stance is that there should not be gin in it because it's a work day and it's before six.

"I love mediation because it's ridiculous. Like talking will solve anything. Talking too much was probably what broke down the marriage in the first place," L sighs, lounging back in his chair with his eyes closed as he slips his shoes off. Yes, why not? Because that's not strange at all. This whole place is strange and L's only adding to it. There's also a religious statue or two behind us, which I'm not terribly happy about. I look past him to the view of the upper levels of Tokyo high-rises until he opens one eye at me, then rocks in his chair so it bounces and he laughs. Please, I'm not that childish, you weird fuck. I turn away back to Mikami and Touta, who are only slightly more socially acceptable, and L must look at Mihael, who mimics him until they both laugh. L's chair squeaks next to me and he's really stupid, but I can't stop smiling because he  _is_ so stupid, and he's still laughing when he addresses Mikami. "Strange how, after so many years of separation, that your wife decided that you might yet be able to save your marriage after you got back into politics as the Prime Minister's aide, Mikami." Good point.

"Hmmm... I thought the same thing," Mikami agrees. "Hey, have you heard about Finance shagging some journalist from the paper?"

"God, not another one," I sigh. I push my hair back in desperation of being outwardly responsible for what is essentially a band of pubescent children, and my scalp actually hurts. My headache is spreading and becoming a new disease. Why didn't I go into the police force like I was going to? Oh. I remember – the uniforms.

"Which paper?" L asks him.

"Oh, I don't know, they're all the same. Photographed shagging in a field yesterday afternoon."

"In a field?"

"Mmmm. Maize. And with her kid in the car too."

"Oh there's another fucked up individual for the future then. Book the therapist now, I reckon. Sex in a field, eh? I hope they put down a ground sheet first. That's contamination of the nation's food stocks, isn't it?" he asks me in all seriousness, but it's difficult to tell since his face is doing that nondescript thing it does.

"I don't know, do I? My Head of Agriculture is probably fucking in a field himself. Why didn't you know about this?"

"I did," he says. "I let it go. I didn't know about the field, but I knew he was screwing someone or other. I heard whispers. And I couldn't have stopped the papers making the most of a homegrown story anyway. They'll sell out their own. It's wonderful, even if it is a little contrived"

"How am I supposed to give the impression of eradicating sleaze if people won't stop being sleazy?"

"Hmmmm," he nods. "Terrible."

"Well, I'm glad that you didn't stop it, Lawliet," Mikami slurs. That really is gin, isn't it? Fucker. "The photos went well with my morning coffee."

"I was stuck on the story about the suicidal man who was saved from drowning by a group of vagrants on methylated spirits," L says, and I sigh again to be reminded of it.

"I didn't want that story out either."

"Why? Was it too heartwarming for you? I didn't know that you expected me to perform a veto on every news story, regardless of whether it's a political issue or not."

"Vagrancy  _is_  a political issue," I tell him. And methylated spirits. And suicide. I'm not sure what isn't a political issue, really.

"You should have seen the back on him," Mikami gasps, like he's just remembered the horror. "I remember it from the sauna. Do you remember, Yagami? His back?"

"Yes, I thought he was wearing a fur coat."

"You've been in a sauna?" L asks me, but Mikami continues before I can answer and paint a nice picture in L's head of me in a towel with a lot of men. Sweating.

"And he was all over this journalist woman. She was holding onto his back hair for grim death."

"Listen, Mikami, I don't want to hear this filth," L says. "Not with the Virgin Mary standing behind me and me in a state of fucking grace. Oooh, hello, what's this?" he veers off suddenly, having seen a man carrying a tray and wearing nothing but rabbit ears and a pair of black shorts with a piece of cotton wool stuck to his backside. Apart from that, his tan is offensive to the eyes. What the fuck am I doing here?

"He's a boy bunny," Touta explains.

"They have boy bunnies here?" L asks. "Excellent. I'll have to come here more often." Yes, do that and I'll cut your bollocks off and feed them to you. He has the absolute worst taste, apart from me of course. I feel so insulted. That rabbit has no style or class.

"Thanks, by the way, Lawliet. Major thanks. I owe you a drink or several one night," Mikami says between swigs of his current drink.

"Oh, it was nothing," L says, waving his hand in irritation and to shoo the reference away like it's a pestering wasp.

"What's this?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"Lawliet stopped a story about Naomi and me. Jeevas, y'know," Mikami explains. Oh! Now that really does surprise me. I wonder if Mikami paid him to do that. "It's great when other people are in the papers, but not so funny when you're in them yourself. I don't know why Naomi married Jeevas in the first place, because he was totally not her type. I'm her type."

"An ex-junkie who gets himself sacked?" L clarifies. "Sounds a lot like Jeevas, only he was less of an ex and he had the sense to die before he was sacked."

"I resigned. And you, my friend, have lost yourself a drink."

"I just seem to remember you being sacked before you resigned, since I was in the room and all and I wrote your resignation letter and statement. The Lady was very disappointed."

Mikami coughs on his drink, which I am now convinced is mostly gin. "Yes, well, The Lady's no lady anymore, is she? The bitch is dead, long live Yagami."

"And thank God for divorce courts," I say, distracted by how square my knee looks when it's folded over the other.

Touta's eyes become large with shock and I feel absolutely nothing. "Really, Light?"

"Mmmm..." Mikami sounds out smoothly. "I agree, but don't tell Naomi."

"What would you say, Light, if someone married for distinctly dishonest and self-serving reasons, such as... for their career, say? Their image," L asks me slyly. "But they're actually in love with someone less photogenic and possibly of the wrong se -"

"I wouldn't know, Lawliet."

"What the hell is with the Lawliet?"

"It's your name," I say. It's also a warning. Don't fuck with me, dearest. "But I don't know what you're talking about. I think you need a good prosecution case to expel all this frustration you obviously have, instead of using me as some pointless, speculative crash dummy. I don't comment on personal intrigues, hypothetical or otherwise."

"No, you wouldn't, of course. The Prime Minister is not available for comment. And this, gentlemen, is a man who loves humanity but not human beings. I feel some... affiliation with that, if that _is_  the case. Perhaps we have a man here who doesn't believe in love, or at least is very dubious of it. He thinks of it only as a story. Then again, I could be deliberately antagonising you all for the sake of conversation, because as it is, it's incredibly boring."

"You're certainly succeeding if that's your goal, L."

"But you haven't affirmed or denied my statement. I find that interesting."

"Oh? Well, as Prime Minister, it wouldn't look very good if I affirmed it, would it? What kind of person would that make me?"

"A very bad one. Or a very reasonable, logical, inhuman one. But please answer my question. You're in a safe place, surrounded by your loyal subjects, and whatever you say will be taken on as our own beliefs, since you're our lord and saviour. But I reserve the right to think that you're lying if you start preaching on the virtues of love. That would be the Prime Minister talking and not you. Don't make me lose respect for you."

"I don't have any choice then, do I? No, I don't believe in love," I smile cooly with a rod of iron up my spine. My eyes narrow like his as I follow the line from his neck to the sharply jutting angle of his jaw as he sits unsurprised but amused. I realise then that I don't know if I do believe what I say or not. It seems like too much of a despicably stupid excuse for what my gut tells me is more of a merging of souls, which also seems ridiculous now that I think about it. Broken down, it's really a romanticised way of describing someone that you like having sex with and who doesn't make you want to shoot them every time they talk to you. The people of the world can be split into two groups: people you'd sleep with, and people you'd like to see hit by a train. In reality, there's more of the latter. L is an exception, I admit. But then, I have wanted to shoot him and throw him in front of trains several times over the years, and more besides. Sometimes I imagine a fishing hook in his throat. The thin and shining mental curves just under the skin with so little blood, but if I pulled it, it would pull his whole throat out with it. There'd be a gurgling spray of blood for a few beautiful seconds, then I'd wish that I hadn't done it.

I suppose that I'm still adjusting to this strange desire for oneness, completely against my will. That people actually search for it is something I'll never understand. I don't think that it can be defined in a hundred books, but I might look up in the dictionary later.

"Light!" Touta exclaims. Yes, his horror rocks him like a earthquake. Not for the first time, I'm thankful for this cage of thoughts that I have, but sometimes I want to verbalise every thought and let them fly just to see how many stopped hearts it would cause.

"Ha! Light, you're such a liar," L says to me. "I see right through you and you're no carte blanche anymore. But you let it change you, and that's unforgivable. Whoever's responsible should be punished."

I think he mouths 'I love you' to me, but he couldn't have, because he's not even looking at me anymore. I must have imagined it. Fuck B. B stands for Bastard.

Mikami sets his glass on the table and asks me a question which is infested with no interest. "And how is Kiyomi, Yagami?"

"Bulbous is the word." Ooops. I shouldn't have said that.

"Light!"

"Yes, Touta, that's my name."

"Do you know what it is yet?" Mikami says, wiping his nose. "The baby, I mean."

"It's a baby, I'd imagine," L snipes. He'd like to pretend that Kiyomi's carrying a handbag instead. I would too most of time, though it has been useful politically.

"A boy," I answer before I drink my bitter lime. Choosing a tonic water with such a strong quinine content is very hedonistic of me, I feel. I'm really taking my life in my hands.

"Wow! Light!"

"Touta, you've used up all your Lights for today."

"But why haven't you told us?" he asks me. "Soichiro and Sachiko haven't said anything. Shit, Sayu's going to be disappointed. She wanted you to have a girl."

"A boy, eh? Congratulations, Yagami. Two girls in one house would be like, the worst," Mikami sighs.

"Yes. I remember having two women in the house, and though they were outumbered by bastards all, it was still a very inconvenient and temperamental atmosphere. Congratulations, Light. An heir and not an heiress," L says moodily. He lies back again, closes his eyes and thinks of England, presumably.

"Thanks," I grumble back, just as moodily.

"Any ideas on names yet?" Touta asks.

"Kiyomi wanted Rei, after her father, but no."

"A Rei of Light would be the headline," L laughs.

"Yes."

"Oh, I like that," Touta sighs.

"You would, because it's completely idiotic," L says, smirking at Mihael like it's a private joke between them and they're fucking comrades. I wish Mihael would cut his hair and try to look less like he's just stepped off the set of a bondage porno. I also wish he'd contribute more than sucking the chocolate off a Pocky and shoving the unwanted sticks into the grill of the table, but most of all I wish he'd disappear because his presence always makes L very outspoken in company. "Funny how you all have these half-lives outside of this place. I don't have anything like that."

I look at him in confusion and wonder if I imagined that he said that or not. Half a life? 'Both of us are half a person, half a life.'

"Not half-lives, Lawliet," Touta tells him kindly, like he's explaining a complicated theory in as simple a way as possible. "That's life. Work is just something we do."

"Oh. My mistake,"

"Not joking, guys, but life is hard fucking work, isn't it? Partners and stuff. All this 'No sex for you, I'm fucking angry about I don't know what, but you never do anything around the house' shit. Did Naomi do that with you, Yagami?" Mikami asks me, suddenly interested.

"We didn't really have that kind of relationship," I answer. No, we really didn't and for that exact reason. Her wide eyes and bouts of crying would become grating after a while, but in small doses it was like she was crying for the world, and that was very appealing. Plus, Jeevas was around then. Mmmmm... Jeevas. He was party to one of the greatest fucks of my life. When I think of him now, I think of grey smudges of powdered bone on L's white thighs.

"Oh. Just sex, right? See, that's where I went wrong. Hey, you know when you two were on, did she ever do this thing where she -"

"This isn't appropriate, Mikami."

"Right, right," he agrees with me, but he can't contain himself. "She has a photo of you and Penber on the wall. In her bedroom. I wake up and I see you and a dead guy every morning, and you both fucked her and I feel like you're judging me. Like, 'That was a poor performance, Mikami.' You know what I mean?"

"Anyway, to Baby Yagami!" Touta interrupts, and not a moment too soon. "Kanpai!"

I have to explain why I'm not raising my glass with Mikami and Touta. Mihael looks like he's asleep now and L doesn't need to explain why he's not celebrating the gestation of any baby because he's a bastard, but I would be expected to explain myself since it's my baby after all. I want to do it in as few words as possible. I settle upon: "Let's not. It's not born yet."

"What time's the meeting then?" Mikami asks, looking at his watch. Oh, shit, no. I need more time! Touta turns to me with a slightly concerned, unsure look on his face.

"Two o'clock, isn't it, Light?"

Oh, I don't need this. I can feel L glaring at me already, because he doesn't know about the meeting since I purposefully didn't send him the memo. It was a way of creating a escape route in case I did change my mind, and I have. I could have cancelled the meeting and he'd never know, but now Mikami and Touta have blown it. "Does anyone actually have a diary in this place or do you just turn up whenever and hope for the best?"

"So it's at two then?"

"Yes. It's at two, Touta."

"I have a feeling that I'm going to get very upset in a second," L grumbles beside me. "What's this meeting?"

"Light's called a cabinet meeting at two," Touta says excitedly. How he could get excited I don't know, because he's not invited. He's only a civil servant.

"We know it's at two now, Matsuda," Mikami tells him,

"A cabinet meeting?" L tries to clarify, directing his question at Touta because he's the most likely to answer without L having to resort to cross-examination. Oh God. "A sort of sirens blaring, emergency sort of cabinet meeting?"

"Bill proposal, I think. Got the memo somewhere. Didn't you get the memo?"

"A  _bill_  proposal?" L repeats. "There are a lot of memos I don't get, I think." He slumps back in the chair with his arms crossed, so I reach for my drink because I'm going to need it, but I wish there was gin in it.

"I thought you'd be there, but I guess PR isn't that important," Touta says cheerfully. If it wasn't him saying it then it would sound sarcastic, but he really doesn't think that PR is very important. L usually finds it funny, but not right now. I'm going to have to pull a good excuse out of the bag here and avoid the truth at all costs.

"Ha! No, not important, no hahahahahahahaha," L laughs in a manic and forced way, stopping abruptly to glare at me again.

"I think I'll... um… get some lunch," I tell them as I stand. Yes, I'm going to run away, but I'm stuck to the spot. I should take L to one side and lie profusely to get myself out of this shit. My guard stood when I did and now looks very stupid a few tables away, staring at me like he fell in love at first sight.

"Stuff your face, Light. Fill your boots," L says in clipped tones.

"It's just a meeting, Lawliet," Mikami tells him. Touta also joins in with the consoling of L.

"Yeah, I'm sure you can drop in, if you really want to."

"Oh, yes. That'd be lovely," he agrees. "I'd love to see how this whole politics thing works because it's completely mystifying to me."

"It is to me too sometimes, but it gets easier," Touta confesses. Despite having known L for nearly five years, Touta still is oblivious to L's sarcasm and doesn't spot signs which are as big and bright and easy to spot as a toxic waste warning. L looks at him in silence for a long moment, and we all look like we're a film on pause.

"Did someone drop you on the head when you were a baby?" L asks him. Matuda looks very offended, unsurprisingly, although I've often considered that possibility, myself.

"L's been to a lot of cabinet meetings, Touta," I say.

"I've been to a lot of cabinet meetings and a lot of disciplinaries," L continues sulkily. "I think I know everything there is to know about politics, and most of it is excrement and putrefaction, Matsuda."

"Putrefaction?"

"Yes, and conniving, backstabbing, lying, secretive, patronising, demanding, bent as a nine bob note politicians."

"Bent as a what?"

"A nine bob note. They're very bent. One in particular."

"Thank you, L, but I think that's enough from you and your charming colloquialisms," I say hurriedly. "Do you want to help me get another round of drinks?"

"He's so bent, Uri Geller would have a job straightening him out," he tells Touta.

"Who's Uri -"

"You couldn't straighten him out with a sledgehammer and an anvil. You could run him over and he'll just spring back, bent as anything."

"Who?"

"Him," L says, pointing at me.

"You can't say that about Light. He's our Prime Minister."

"Gracious, I forgot. I hope he doesn't give me another disciplinary because of my terrible behaviour which is pointing out the  _fucking_  obvious!" he shouts. I can't avoid this because he'll find me eventually even if I do run away now, and if I run away, it'll just make the situation worse. I have a right to have a meeting without him being notified. It's not essential that he should be there, but I wouldn't want to try to tell him that. I attempt to look as calm as possible as I confront the issue and sit down again.

"L, I did mean to tell you. Obviously you're invited."

"Oh, well, thank you, but I suspect that you were going to tell me about the meeting  _after_  the meeting, that is if you were going to tell me at all. And  _that_ , I have to tell you, Light, is what I a hundred percent think. It's a fact. But, no, PR isn't important. I'm just here for scenery and to make up the numbers, so it's not important that I know about this emergency cabinet meeting which will probably be mentioned to the press because, as we've established, since I'm Press Relations, I'm not important. Thank you, Matsuda!"

"I think I'm going to get some... crêpes," Mikami says awkwardly. He throws some notes on the table as he stands up, and he's a fucking coward.

"I'd love a crêpe but I'm not important enough," L sulks.

"I'll get you a crêpe, Lawliet."

"No, really, crêpes are for important people."

Mikami drags Touta away with him and salutes me as they leave. Mihael's still asleep, but I think this might be one of those empty and guarded bathroom conversations L and I should have which ends with me going down on him.

"What's so funny?" L asks me, and it's then that I realise that I'm sniggering to myself.

"You."

"Fuck off. And to think I played camera football with you this morning. I really regret not biting your tongue off."

"It's a bill."

"I'm not paying your bill, you can forget it."

"No, the meeting is about a bill."

"Yes, a bill, so I've heard, but you haven't told me about it."

"It was supposed to be a surprise, but I see that wasn't a good idea now."

"I knew you were up to something! When you kept saying that you had to work, you were actually working, weren't you?!"

"I do work, you know."

"No you don't!"

"I do, L."

"This is news to me. All Prime Ministers do is waltz around and visit places and talk about fuck all. What's this bill then?"

"It's for you. I'm running it past the party first but then it'll go through the House and you'll know how serious I am."

"Oh, your swan song?" he asks, immediately soppy as a sponge in a bucket of water. That was easy, but now I'll have to go through with this meeting.

"Penultimate, yes," I say.

"You should have told me. We could have had sex," he says softly. God, I hope that Mihael really is asleep.

"I only decided this morning, but there is payment due on your account now, Mr Lawliet. No, I didn't want you to know until the meeting. I was going to tell you about it myself, not through a memo. And you won't like the bill and you'll tell me that I'm stupid and I wanted to avoid that."

"I wouldn't tell you that you were stupid. Is it lofty?"

"You might think so."

"Perfect. The loftier, the better. The bill might be stupid but I don't care, Light."

"I know. And you are important. We're the most important people in the world. Just us."

"Just us," he repeats after me. "Oh, you're very gifted. You made me go from wanting to kill to wanting to kiss you within two minutes. That's unheard of."

"You can kill in more ways than one."

"Mmm. You didn't mention that Kiyomi's having a boy."

"It's a spoiler, isn't it? And it doesn't matter."

"You know, I find your aforementioned lack of humanity to be infinitely attractive."

"A lack of humanity is not my problem. Stop looking at me like that."

"I know, it's awful. And poor Stephen crying himself to sleep."

"He won't say anything will he?"

"I very much doubt it. He wouldn't want me on his bad side. Besides, he's the kind who likes proof and I think, with our talents, that we can prevent him from finding proof. Light, I was thinking. Perhaps it would be a good idea if I spoke to him. Properly, I mean."

"Keep him hanging on, you mean," I say. I must sound angry and hurt and jealous and a lot of other things by the suggestion, because I can't be seen to approve of it, but I was thinking earlier that it would be a good idea if L was to find anything out of the investigation. Stephen's out of the way now, which is perfect, but if L could keep him thinking that there's a tiny hope of a reconciliation in return for honesty, then he might suddenly find that he knows more about Wedy than he thought he did. Desperation makes people do stupid things.

"No, but it might be a good idea. Maybe I could convince him that if he joined the CIA again..." Oh, L. Your mind is only a step behind mine.

"Do you really think he would?" I ask innocently.

"He left because I asked him to. Can't have an employee of the government fraternising with the CIA, can we? I'm sure I could make him retract his resignation and find something out about Wedy. They were very sorry to see him go."

"As long as it doesn't interfere with anything. Things are complicated enough as they are."

"I agree. Don't tell me that you don't love it though."

"A potential murder charge? Yes. I love it."

"But isn't it exciting, Light?"

"A little bit, maybe."

"Did you do it?" he whispers with bated breath. We should go to the bathroom and lock the door.

"What?"

"Did you kill her?"

"Mr Lawliet, I'm surprised at you. And we have no time for any of  _that_. I have to change my suit for something more sombre."

"Nnnn... Well, give me this bill then," he says, leering at me. I reason that this is acceptable because he's a known lech to the point of ridicule and that even I, the Prime Minister and a slightly personal friend, am not off-limits. My marriage protects me from everything, but I lean away from him anyway in case anyone does see, but I don't think he takes offence. He slaps Mihael on his stomach then, actually very near his dick. What the fuck is that about? "Wake up, blondie."

"Go away," Mihael groans, muddled with sleep.

"We miss your exciting conversation."

"Funny," he says, closing his eyes again. "It was your exciting conversation which made me go to sleep. What time is it?"

"One."

"Wake me at twenty five past."

"Hard night?" L asks, looking at him in a similar way to how my mother looks at me. You'd think that he'd adopted him or something.

"I prefer to sleep during the day."

"As you can imagine," L says, turning back to me, "he makes a wonderful, hard-working PA."

"I think that we better go, actually. There's too much exploitation here."

"I thought that you liked exploitation, Light. Well, I like it here. It's like a biblical place which is going to feel the wrath of God soon."

"Oh, L," Mihael says unexpectedly, "you left your phone at the office. Your friend called. The weird one."

"That's not very specific."

"I left a memo on your desk."

"Ok, but who was it?"

"I can't remember! I wrote a fucking memo, L, I'm not your secretary!" Mihael spits at him, sounding very awake now. Shame.

"God, Mihael. You're my personal assistant but you don't assist me at all. All you do is strut around, which I have to admit was entertaining for the first couple of days, but now you have to do some hard work, son. Anyway, you shouldn't answer my phone."

"Hold on, you just said that I should have remembered the message, so you must have been ok with me answering the phone, but now you're saying that I shouldn't have answered your phone?"

"I'm  _saying_  that you shouldn't have answered my personal phone, but you did because you're a nosey shit. It wasn't interesting enough for you, so you forget the message. What use are you to me?"

"Why don't you remember your phone and take your own messages?"

"It's my prerogative if I remember my phone or not. My whole family could have died. I'd like to know. It would really cheer me up."

"I think I'd remember the message if your family had died, L," Mihael says condescendingly, tilting his head to one side and sitting up for whatever scuffle they're having.

"Don't talk back to me!"

"I'll fucking well talk back to you, you self-important twat."

"At least I'm not wearing a coat made of cats," L says. It's a very good point. Mihael's coat reminds me of a well-groomed Siamese.

"It's not made of cat. What cats have you seen that look like this coat?"

"Wild ones. You could go to prison for that. They're endangered and protected by law."

"It's not made of a fucking wild cat. You're stupid."

"I'm getting another drink," I say, but no hears me, or at least, they don't let on that they did or that it matters.

"That's it. You're fired," L tells him.

"Fuck you, I quit."

"You can't quit. I fired you first, you idiot blond. Has the bleach seeped into your..."

I make my way back inside, and my guard catches up with me to lift the roped barrier at the entrance of the roof garden to allow me to pass. People actually part like the proverbial sea as I walk towards the bar. That might have something to do with them knowing who I am, though I doubt it. None of them look like the kind of people who watch the news or know how to read. It might be because I had an exfoliating facial last week, or it might be because of the large monolith of a man with a gun behind me. Either way, I'm practically there when the crowd move aside to confront me with two people having sex on top of bar. I don't think this is right at all, considering the time of day, and I will voice my official disapproval by ignoring it completely. My guard doesn't take the initiative to break it up, and I'm not sure that he could from the look of things, so he ignores it too. Everyone ignores it, so I suppose that it must happen all the time. Looking at the fuckathon out of the corner of my eye, the woman looks a bit like Kiyomi and the man looks a bit like L, but I can't see that clearly and I can't make it obvious that I'm looking. As my drink arrives, the woman's leg extends suddenly and the heel of her shoe knocks my glass over, so I have to wait again until I can get out of this situation. I will close this place down after my meeting. The cuff of my jacket is soaking wet.

So I get my drink and walk back to the roof garden, looking and feeling as unaffected as possible. It reminds me of when I was an aide in Culture and then a deputy in Transport and therefore didn't matter, when I'd see that kind of thing all the time. I remember once when, back in the day, I went to a party. It was house party but it was in a really big house. We had to wear masks, so it was one of those parties. I wore a skull mask; a white skull. L was an abstract crow or something. He saw me just as I saw him and we knew. Couldn't see each other's faces, but we knew. That was a good night. Anyway, he didn't know that I was going to be there and I didn't know that he was going, so we were strangers. Only we knew. Point is, if I wasn't there, he would have found someone else. Someone less. He'd go with anything because he's just like B said. B. I wish I could tell him this now. At least I always had a reason, like with L for example. I did him because he promised me press, but I didn't know what I was getting into. I suppose that happens. But him, God. If I saw B now, I'd tell him that even if he wore a mask and L didn't know it was him, he still wouldn't pick him. That's B's tragedy. I imagine that it must be painful to be in love with someone for nearly thirty years and for them never to see you in the way you want to be seen. We all have to stay within our groups though, don't we? Our tiers of perfection. L outranks B, and I outrank L and everyone else, but when you get to my level you have to lower yourself sometimes. B knows it. He hates him for it and hates me too. He hates that L's never looked at him apart from one time when he was drunk. Ha. I don't think that'll ever stop being funny to me.

I get back to the table and I'm surprised that Mihael and L aren't tearing each other's hair out or signing termination of employment contracts. In fact, they both look very peaceful and upper class in their loungers, if you could disregard Mihael's clothing. Perhaps they look more like a wealthy client and his rentboy. I sit back down in the middle of L relating some tale of deep profundity.

"... so I said that was very nice, but I'm not really into kinbaku. I do know how to do a sheepshank knot but I hadn't done that since the Scouts."

"I'm not sure how I'd feel about being tied up," Mihael comments. This day is full of surprises. I thought he'd be a dab hand at that shit.

"Well, yes. Quite. I had my wrists tied once, but it was more of an accident. My hands got caught in the man's hair," L informs him. "You have to trust the person tying you up, that's the problem.  _You_  look like the trustworthy sort, apart from when you have to take messages."

"I said that I'd left you a fucking message. What would you prefer me to do? Tattoo it on my hand?"

"Yes, Mihael. Tattoo my messages on your hand and wear your leather and your dead cat and buy an old Guns and Roses t-shirt so you can look like even more of a hipster cunt."

"Arrrr -"

"I want to go," I say so L notices that I'm there. If I expected a look of love and relief that I've returned then I would be disappointed.

"Why? Where have you been? Why didn't you get us a drink?"

"You were fighting."

"No we weren't," L says.

"People are fucking on the bar. We have to go," I mutter calmly like a Soviet spy. I'll call in the rest of security and have everyone's phones taken and checked for damaging images of me near anything sexual. I'll be smuggled out the back and deny everything. I'll have L wrangle a complete media blackout and I'll close this place down.

"Wha!?" Mihael screeches and rushes off before I have a chance to answer. He returns quickly but slouching and tell me that no one's having sex on the bar and that it's mean to get someone's expectations up like that.

"Well, they were. Just now," I say. Mihael scoffs and L just stares at me. He doesn't believe me, and what's worse is that he looks worried like he did this morning. He thinks I'm mad. "They were, L," I say again, sounding like I'm pleading.

"I believe you," he says, totally unconvincingly.

"I have to go. There must be another way out of here that we can - oooofff!"

I'm nearly knocked off my feet as I stand up, and I realise that some stupid bitch in a bunny outfit has walked into me. This could not get worse, but then L starts shouting at the bunny.

"Hey, watch it, sweetheart. Bump into your own bloke."

"What's your problem?" some enormous suit asks him. He towers over L and me with violence dripping from every pore, and I didn't think they made suits that large. I don't think the vertical stripes are creating any illusion. "Don't speak to my rabbit like that!"

"You can fuck off too," L says. "Her sense of balance is shit."

"Lawliet?" the suit asks him. What?

"Oh, fuck, it's you."

"Pretty boys you've got here. Had the trip wires out near the public toilets again, have we?"

"Excuse me, he's the Prime Minister!" L says, horrified, though probably not on my behalf. I'm not a pretty boy! I'm handsome. Devastatingly so, according to SakuraTV, but who listens to those twats? "How do you not know who the Prime Minister of the country is?"

"TV's on the blink. Well, whatever. Just tell him to mind my rabbit, yeah?"

"Don't side with a rabbit with fucked equilibrium over your Prime Minister. You've probably only just groped her. She's walking into people all over the place like she's in a pinball machine. She's probably off her tits."

"Let's go," I tell L quietly. The last thing I need is more attention drawn to myself, and now L's just told some massive idiot with a rabbit exactly who I am. I might as well do a live conference about sexism from here with women in bunny suits hand feeding me wine and grapes.

"I'm not off my tits! I've only had one drink," the rabbit argues in an incredibly high-pitched voice which reminds me of Misa just before she started crying, and L turns on her as well.

"Then you should watch where you're fucking well going. He could sue you for grievous bodily harm and for being drunk and disorderly."

Oh no, this is getting out of control. Why can't he shut up? Where's my guard? He's nowhere to be seen! "I'm not going to sue any -"

"I didn't even touch him!" the rabbit shouts.

"Maybe, but you did touch him."

"See you at the office!" Mihael calls over as he leaves like another coward.

"Are you saying that she was after him?" the suit asks L. My God, he's a big man.

"That's your conclusion based on a gut instinct and I think that you should take notice of it and not put your cock anywhere near this rabbit without double bagging. I also think that she might need a CT scan."

"Fucking queers. Let's go," the suit says to the rabbit.

"You always were a dick, Kirino," L tells him. "No wonder that your firm is... what? Slipping in reputation, shall we say? I want your full name and address so I can sue you too. Both of you. Do you have latent sexual issues you haven't dealt with yet?"

"Why do you have to threaten someone with court action everywhere we go?" I ask L.

"I'm sorry that I bumped into you," the bunny says to me.

"It's ok."

"I like your suit. It's very business-like."

"Thanks. I... like your bunny outfit," I reply, struggling for something to throw back.

"You don't think the corset's a bit too much?" she asks, heaving it back up with a hefty tug. "It's the uniform but, I don't know about it."

"No, it's very Playboy."

"Do you think?!"

"Yeah, it's nice. I like your tail."

"Thanks! Would you like a drink and a blow?"

"Ok, we're going now," L says.

"Yeah, so are we," the suit agrees, dragging the rabbit off.

"What are you doing chatting up a rabbit?" L asks me.

"I wasn't."

"You don't even realise you're doing it, do you?"

"I think she meant a line when she said blow."

"No, she didn't. Would you have let that rabbit blow you?"

"No!"

"Because you're married. You've got one of them."

"I know."

"And she's got your spawn in her oven. Why are you so greedy?"

"I'm not!"

"You complimented her tail."

"I was only being nice."

"Agh!" he growls like a pirate while he picks up his coat from the arm of his chair.

"I was not chatting up a rabbit. Let's go."

"You like her  _fucking_  tail," he says, tossing some notes of the table. "You're such a slut. I mean, I was right there!"

"Shut up, L."

"As your PR man I have to warn you against chatting up rabbits or anything else. I don't know why I'm surprised. The morning after I met you, I asked you how you wanted your eggs and you said 'fertilised.' Then you said 'legs over easy.' I mean, what was I thinking? You're a degenerate."

"Heh. Yeah, that was funny."

"It wasn't funny. You have a mouth like a docker. I was a nice man before I met you."

"Pffff..."

"I was. Everyone thought so. I used to go to church and wear velvet blazers."

"God, stop it."

"Why?"

"Well, the idea is stupid, but I like velvet anyway. Velvet and churches and you," I sigh just before my guard reaches us. Then we say nothing as he guides us out of the building through the kitchens and out onto a back street. Obviously we can't possibly find our way out of a building ourselves. My car's waiting and we sit in the back, with L passing notes to me about something completely different to what he's talking about, which is more political in nature. It's too late to cancel the meeting now.

* * *

I went through the motions of preparing for the meeting and thought of suddenly feeling ill. I've never been ill enough to miss even the most uneventful day of work, apart from when my face looked like a cherry flan, but perhaps today is that day. The clock ticks on the wall and becomes the loudest, most obnoxious sound in the world, and I think that maybe what should happen will pass me by untouched. I'll blink and it'll be six o'clock and I can get into L's car and leave all these fuckers to rot.

But I hear the door to my office open and my eyes flash towards the sound, but I stay still apart from that, standing in front of the window and the permanently stained grey skies.

"If you have any phlegm in your throat please cough it up now," L's voice tells me. Of course he's thrilled with expectation. His ego is probably doing cartwheels. "Why aren't you wearing your jacket? You're in there in five minutes."

"I think I might postpone," I say dully. He understands me and is silent for a moment, but decides to wrench a confession out of me anyway.

"Why? You've never postponed."

"I don't think it's ready."

"It's not a cake, Light."

"I have a headache."

"Have a painkiller," he suggests, sounding more bitter and cold with every word he says. He stands in front of me now, and instead of skies, I see the grey of his jacket, a pure white shirt, a starched collar, a slicing blue tie, the movement of his throat when he speaks.

"I'm not happy with it. The bill."

"You mean because you have two wishes left and you want to make sure that they're good ones?"

"No. Well, yes."

"If you cancel this, I'll be very angry," he says slowly.

"I'm not cancelling it, I want to postpone. I need to rewrite my speech and look over the proposal again -"

"Rewrite it? What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing."

"Then it's the bill you want to postpone and not your speech."

"No. I... There are a few things I want to double check. Get some other opinions."

"When have you ever wanted someone else's opinion?"

"I need expert opinions to back it up, L. It's important."

"Is it now?" he whispers, more like a hiss of air. He steps closer towards me and for moment I think that he'll just give me this grace of time, even though I know that he won't. I know and he knows and we speak and dance around my excuses until he boxes me in. And now he's so close to me that I think he might just hold me and say that it's ok, he trusts me, I just need more time, I've had a hard day; but he doesn't. I should expect some violence and I'm not shocked when it comes. He squeezes my balls hard through my trousers suddenly and I fall towards him, my hand instinctively grips his arm and my forehead rests on his shoulder, saving me from falling. And he stands completely straight, holding me up and controlling me with a firm hand.

I'm so furious and it simmers, masked by nature telling me to let him do it, let him carry on, hope that he carries on. This is an ideal relationship because it doesn't involve Interflora. It's not bored contentment like with Kiyomi, it's this brutality and fierceness; love and hate sharing a house. But he doesn't do anything more, just holds the pressure there while he speaks clearly and low and as firmly as his hand forces pain and longing and sharp, stuttering breaths from me

"I didn't watch you come all this way for so long for you to fuck it up now. You're going to go in there and give me what you promised me."

I don't answer, because I can't bring myself to take it what he's saying. I hear him speaking but I can't hear an order, I just hear a his voice and the heaving sound of air leaving my lungs. That I don't answer makes him squeeze harder and I grunt against his shoulder and bite my teeth together.

"Light."

"Y...es"

"Don't be frightened. You lead, they follow. Don't be frightened."

"I'm... not."

"Good," he says, and lets me go to put that same cruel hand on my face to smooth his thumb across my chin. "You don't hear me sometimes. Don't overthink it, because you've made the decision already. Just do it."

"Fortune favours the brave," I breathe out.

"Yes. Fortune, not fear."

I raise my head to kiss his shoulder, but I don't know why. I feel exhausted by something that barely happened, and maybe thankful that he stopped. But then I remember the realities of what will happen if I go in that room and say what he wants me to say.

"My speech -"

"Your speech will be fine."

"I'll split the party, L."

"Then split it. If you lose conviction, they'll see it. Split the party and buy them back," he tell me like it's that simple. Maybe it is. God, he's like Kiyomi.

"But -"

"I don't care what this bill is or whether you split the party or not, just do it. Then there's one more bill left. Kiyomi will spit out your bastard child, you put through one more bill and then that's it."

"I know."

"If you back down now then I'll find Stephen and I'll fuck him so hard that you will feel it. Do you want me to do that, Light?"

"No. I'm not backing down."

"I've given up a lot for you and you're stalling over this?"

"I'm not."

"You promised me a storm and the end, or was it a lie in kindness?"

"It wasn't a lie."

"One more bill?"

"One more."

"Well then," he whispers before he presses a kiss on my head. "Straighten yourself out, Prime Minister."

* * *

And something has changed in me. It's not L's bullying, or Kiyomi, or B, or anything to do with this fuckawful day. I won't give any of them credit. I thought that I might have to drag the bill from myself like pulling a tooth, but it wasn't anything like that. As people's jaws start dropping, I care less. My bill proposal is thought unpopular and as ridiculously aspirational as flying to the moon by only flapping my arms. I want to tear down and rebuild not only the justice system, but to cure it at the grass roots. This first bill is the start of it, and the second bill should finish it. The meeting becomes rowdy as people rage together against it. The expense, and the work which would be involved makes them cling almost unanimously to the lazy, easy lives they have known. All they see is that I'm proposing to load them with paperwork and full working hours. My immediate instinct is to exploit their vulnerabilities to a sadistic extent, like a predator hunting wounded prey because they are so weak, and without them knowing, bend them to do what I want. But now I want purity. I want to appeal to them, not force them. I will force them if they don't submit, but I think that everyone deserves the opportunity to make the right decision, even if I have to force it from them. Because if they believe in this half as much as I do, I don't need corruption to kill corruption. Besides, it will show the good and the bad to me, which will be useful. So I sit and stare at my hands folded calmly on my lap and with a slight smile on my face as the crescendo of voices rise, because I'm listening. When I speak, I will be the one calm voice. Then it comes. Someone - I don't know who - asks me what this means. Why am I proposing such change for a party which is known for its history of mild, useless measures, you mean?

"What great or noble work could we achieve if we think it enough? I see that some of you expect some rousing speech to make up your minds for you, but you won't get that from me. I want you to make up your own minds. There's no tangible prize and glory as the outcome, and none of you will personally feel any benefit from the bill I want pass, except in the knowledge that you will improve lives for others. It is a selfless goal. I go into this knowing that I will split the party. Some of you will never support me again. Those of you can stay and those can go as you see fit, but those who go will, in time, be envious of those who stayed with me. Take a firm step forward, as firm as your principles. I think some of you need to find your principles again. Be impartial. Be as gods. See what is right and follow it towards resolution. We are the law makers and in our hands are the possibilities of humanity. As it stands, we allow these wrongs to be carried out in our name and under our authority when we have the power to alter the course and prevent these crimes. We could create a better world for the people we represent. The cause is no legacy we inherited; we inherited a legacy of passivity from previous governments, and I do not want to repeat that. We are all guilty. We cannot blame others for what we had the opportunity to change. Let's not affix blame to others, for we, ourselves, allowed this to happen.

"Acceptance is the enemy, selfishness and fear of change is the barricade. Those before us could no more ignore what has happened than if they had been blind. We must see with our eyes open and observe the suffering and injustice and hear the stories, for no two are the same, and find the answers. That is our purpose, and I think we've lost that. We must find ways to ensure that no single person ever suffers again in this country. This is a social sickness which has grown and spread for years, decades, perhaps for all of time. I don't accept that it's endemic in the human soul; only guidance and provision is needed. It won't be instantly resolved by the passing of one bill, not even in our term here in government, but it is a step which will one day find an end. I blame no one. Not one person, not one group of people. It is cowardice to think that enough has been done and that we can do no more but continue the status quo, for what we could do is too great a task. It  _is_  a great task, but it is no useless endeavour. No one weak in spirit has ever won anything. We should never be satisfied that we have done enough, for there will always be need for change. We should not turn from it. I want extreme goodness. I want to work for some ideal which, one day, I will be proud that I had some small hand in and that I lived in these times. Empathy is the source of humanity and without it we cannot understand or hope to change. Dedicate yourself to humanity, or else leave this building. We would be inhuman ourselves. This is a moment of change. You are in this room at the start of a new era. Be proud."

And I think that'll do. It's not the truth exactly, but it'll do. Truth is, I'm tied to them by democracy. If I had my own way, then I wouldn't need to make speeches and coerce people into agreeing with me with nice words and battle cries; I'd just do it alone and let my work speak for itself. So many people stand in my way and keep my fingertips just out of reach from perfection.

They leave in consternation, thoughtless and selfish, until I'm left with only L sitting far away from the table like he's only a bystander. The door closes and he stands to turn a key and lock us into this emptiness. I've never felt so false and yet so honest. I feel like a sword fight.

"You. Sit in my lap."

He smiles like he was expecting me to say that, but I don't think that he should be commended for that prophecy. He dutifully walks to me and straddles me, still wearing the same ghost of a smile. We both watch my hand run up the length of his thigh, and it sounds like a long breath of air. I think that this was all worth it; this day. I didn't back down, I just had a moment of crisis, and maybe it was subconscious so I could see how he'd react. A bit of cruelty sustains me, especially when dealt by him. I have never been weak.

"I was wondering if you want this out before the bill is read in the House, because I don't know if I can control what the press get hold of on this one," he says. "Some of them seem very angry. If your own party don't support it, what hope do you have there?"

"What do you think of it?" I ask.

"The bill or your sudden desire to alienate yourself from your own party?"

"The bill."

"I thought that your great work was to change the justice system. You said that you wanted to take away the right of appeal for murderers and have them executed within a week of judgement, replacing lay judges with people of your choosing, extending the death penalty to other crimes, only, no, you wouldn't put it like that, but that kind of thing. This is quite a U-turn. How long have you been working on this?"

"A few months."

"I didn't think that you could come up with something more unpopular, but now you have."

"Tell me what you think."

"It's good. Therefore it won't work."

"It will."

"With  _your_  Cabinet?" he laughs.

"We'll see. I'm giving it one last chance, otherwise I'll force it through at the cost of myself," I say, and I could almost believe it. My voice is a silken sash you don't realise is strangling you. It's currently strangling L.

"Tell me what I can do to help you."

"I don't think that I need PR for this. This is mine," I say solemnly. Yes, like a sacrificial lamb. L's finger hooks inside the knot of my tie and loosens it, and he watches that with cool observation while I look at him with anything but.

"Does God still speak through you?" he asks me.

"No, I am God. I'm God with a new name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I think there are at least two Coral Browne quotes in this because she was so funny. Light's political speech was just the bashed out typical bobbins politicians say to make themselves sound righteous and wise. Also stole some bits from actual speeches but I can't remember which ones, sorry. This is a bad disclaimer.
> 
> Really quick LxLight fic rec for 'Nights' by youremyqueen (on ao3) or freezedryedgorgeous on ffn. It's just really good, really well written and actually canonically based, unlike this insult to all that is holy. Her L is such a sod and I love him to bits.
> 
> The final part of this mess is up and should be complete soon if you're still here. If you're still here, thank you.


End file.
